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LOVELL’S HOii SEHOLD LIBRARY. 

This admirable series of Popular Books is printed on heavier and larger 
paper than other cheap series, and is substantially bound in an attractive 
cover. - 

The following have been issued to date. The be.st works of new fiction . 
will be added as rapidly as they appear. 


1 A Wicked Girl, by M. C. Hay 25 

2 The Moonstone, by Collins 25 

3 Moths, by Ouida 25 

4 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll, by R. L. 

Stevenson ; and Faust 25 

6 Peck’s Bad Boy and his Pa, by Geo. 
W. Peck 26 

6 Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brout6 25 

7 Peck’s Sunshine, by Geo, W. Peck. .25 

8 Adam Bede, by George Eliot .26 

« Bill Nye and Boomerang, by Bill 

Nye HhnseLf 25 

10 What Will the World Say ? 25 

11 Lime Kiln Club, by M. Quad 25 

12 She, by H, Rider Haggard T . 25 

13 Dora Thorne, by B, M. Clay 25 

14 File No, 113, by E. Gaboriau 25 

16 Phyllis, by The Duchess 25 

16 Lady Val worth’s Diamonds, and The 
Haunted Ch.jiraber, by The Duchess.25 

17 A House Party, and A Rainy June, 

by Ouida 25 

18 Set in Diamonds, by B. M. Clay 25 

19 Her Mother’s Sin, by B. M. Clay 25 

20 Other People’s Money, by Gaboriau. 25 

21 Airy Fairv Lilian, by The Duchess.. 25 

22 In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau 25 

23 The Old Mam’selle’s Secret, by E. A. 

Marlitt 25 

24 The Guilty River and The New Mag- 

dalen. bv Wilkie Collins 25 

25 John Halifax, by MissMulock 25 

86 Marjorie, by B. M. Clay 25 

27 Lady Audley’s Secret, by Braddon. .25 

28 Peck’s Fun, by George W. Peck 26 

29 Thorns and Orange Blossoms, by B. 

M. Clay 25 

30 East Lynne, by Mrs. Wood 25 

31 King Solomon’s Mines, by Haggard.,25 

82 The Witch’s Head, by Haggard 25 

3,3 The Master Passion, by Marry at 25 

34 Jess, bylL Rider Haggard 25 

35 Molly Bawn, by The Duchess 25 

36 Fair' Women, by Mrs. Forrester — 25 

37 I’he Merry Men, by Stevenson 25 

33 Old Mvddleton’s Money, by Hay 25 

39 Mrs, Geoffrey, by The Duchess 25 

40 Hypatia, by Rev, Charles Kingsley,. 25 

41 What Would You Do Love? 25 

42 Eli Perkins. Wit, Humor, and Pathos.25 

43 Heart and Science, by Collins 25 

44 Baled Hay, by Bill Nye 25 

45 Barry Lorrequer, by Lever 25 

46 Called Back and Dark Days, by Hugh 

Conway 25 

47 Endymion, by Benjamin Disraeli — 25 

48 Claribel's Love Story, by B. M. Clay. 25 

49 Forty Liars, by Bill Nye 25 

60 Dawn, by H. Rider Haggard .25 

61 Shadow of a Sin, and Wedded and 

Parted, by B, M. Clay 25 


62 Wee Wifle, by Rosa N. Carey 26 

53 The Dead Secret, by Collins 26 

54 Count of 3Ionte Cristo, by Dumas... 50 

55 The Wandering Jew, by Sue 50 

56 The Mysteries of Paris, by Sue 50 

67 Middlemarch, by George Eliot 60 

58 Scottish Chiefs, by Jane Porter 50 

59 Under Two Flags, by Ouida 60 

60 David Copperfield, by Dickens 50 

61 Monsieur Lecoq, by Gaboriau 60 

62 Springhaven, by R, D. Blackmore. . .25 

63 Speeches of Henry Ward Beecher on 

the War 60 

64 A Tramp Actor 26. 

65 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by 

Jules Verne 26 

66 Tour of the World in 80 Days, by 

Jules Verne 25 

67 The Golden Hope, by Russell 25 

68 Oliver Twist, by Dickens 25 

69 Lovell’s Whim, by Shirley Smith 25 

70 Allan Quatermain, bv Haggard.. .26 

71 The Great Hesper, by Frank Barrett. 25 

72 As in a Looking Glass, by F. C. 

Philips, 25 

73 This Man’s Wife, by G. M. Fenn 25 

74 Sabina Zembra, by Wm. Black 25 

75 The Bag of Diamonds, by G. M. Fenn.25 

76 £10,000, by T. E. Willson 25 

77 Red Spider, by S. Baring-Gould 25 

78 On the Scent, by Lady Margaret 

Majendie 25 

79 Beforehand, by T. L. Meade 26 

80 The Dean and his Daughter, by the 

author of “As in a Looking Glass.”25 

81 A Modern Circe, by The Duchess 26 

82 Scheherazade, by Florence Warden.25 

83 “The Duchess,” by The Duchess 26 

84 Peck’s Irish Friend, Phelan 

Geogehan, by Geo. W. Peck 25 

85 Her Desperate Victory, by Eayne...25 

86 Strange Adventures of Lucy Smith, 

by F. C. Philips 25 

87 Jessie, by author of “ Addie’s Hus- 

band” 25 

88 Memories of Men who Saved the 

Union, by Donn Piatt 25 

89 Dick’s Wandering, by Sturgis 25 

90 Confessions of a Society Man 26 

91 Lady Grace, by Mrs. Henry Wood, 

author of “ East Lynne ” 25 

92 The Frozen Pirate, by Russell 25 

93 Jack and Three Jills, by Philips. . . 25 

94 A Tale of Three Lions, by Haggard.25 

95 Prom the Other Side, by Notley 26 

96 Saddle and Sabre, by Hawley Smart. 25 

97 Treasure Island, by R. L. Steven- 

son .25 

98 One Traveller Returns, by D. C. 

Murray 25 

99 Mona’s Choice, by Mrs. Alexander. . 26 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 14 & 16 Vesejr Street, New York. 


hOVBLL B LlBHAHir 


3 


COMPLETE CATALOGUE BY AUTHORS. 

Lovell's Library now contains the complete writings of most of the best standard 
authors, such as Dickens, Thackeray, Eliot, Carlyle, Buskin, Scott, Lytton, Black, etc., 
etc. 

Each number Is issued in neat 12mo form, and the type will be found larger, and the 
paper better, than in any other cheap series published. 

JOHX W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

P. O, Box 1992. 14: and 16 Vesey Street, New York* 


Note. —Where no numbers are given the volumes are published in “ Munro’s Library ” 
only, the publication of which series is continued by the publishers of “ Lovell’s Library.” 


BY AUTHOR OF ADDIE’S HUS- 


BAND ” 

1106 Jessie 20 

Addie's Husband 20 

BY G. M. ADAM AND A. E. 
WETHERALD 

846 An Algonquin Maiden 20 

BY MAX ADELER 

295 Random Shots 20 

325 Elbow Room 20 

BY GUSTAVE AIMARD 

660 The Adventurers 10 

567 The Trail-Hunter 10 

673 Pearl of the Andes 10 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies 10 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter 10 

1032 The Tiger Slayer 10 

1045 Trappers of Arkansas 10 

1052 Border Rifles 10 

1063 The Freebooters 10 

1069 The White Scalper 10 

1071 Guide of the Desert 10 

1075 The Insurgent Chief 10 

1079 The Flying Horseman 10 

1081 Last of the Ancas 10 

1086 Missouri Outlaws 10 

1089 Prairie Flower 10 

1098 Indian Scout 10 

1101 Sfronghand 10 

11(13 Bee Hunters 10 

1107 Stoneheart 10 

1112 Queen of the Savannah ..10 

1115 The Buccaneer Chief 10 

1118 The Smuggler Hero 10 

1121 The Rebel Chief 10 

1127 The Gold Seekers 10 

1133 Indian Chief 10 

1138 Red Track 10 

1145 The Treasure of Pearls 10 

1150 Red River Half Breed 10 

BY MRS. ALDERDICE 

846 An Interesting Case 20 

BY GRANT ALLEN 

ForMaimie's Sike 20 

BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 

419 Fairy Tales 20 

BY G. W. APPLETON 

A Terrible Legacy^ 20 


BY MRS. ALEXANDER 

62 The Wooing O’t, 2 Parts, each 15 

99 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

209 The Executor 20 

349 Valerie’s Fate 10 

664 At Bay 10 

746 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

777 A Second Life : 20 

799 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

840 By Woman’s Wit 20 

995 Which Shall it Be? 20 

1044 Forging the Fetters 10 

1105 Mona’s Choice 20 

1142 A Life Interest 20 

Look Before You Leap 20 

J’he Heritage of Langdale 20 

Ralph Wilton’s Weird .10 

BY F. ANSTEY 

30 Vice Vers^: or, A Lesson to Fathers. .20 

304 The Giant’s Robe 20 

453 Black Poodle, and Other Tales 20 

616 The Tinted Venus 16 

7.65 A Fallen Idol 20 

BY THE DUKE OF ARGYLE 

1175 The Reign of Law 25 

BY AUTHOR OF “ THE BELLE OF 
THE FAMILY,” ETC. 

The Gambler’s Wife 20 

BY THE AUTHOR OF “ FOR 
MOTHER’S SAKE ” 

Leonie 20 

BY THE AUTHOR OF “LEON- 
ETTE’S SECRET ” 

Pauline 20 

BY T. S. ARTHUR 

496 Woman’s Trials 20 

507 The Two Wives 16 

518 Married Life 16 

538 The Ways of Providence 15 

545 Home Scenes 15 

554 Stories for Parents 15 

563 Seed-Time and Harvest 15 

568 Words for the Wise 15 

574 Stories for Young Housekeepers 15 

579 Lessons in Life 15 

682 Ofl*-Hand Sketches 16 

585 Tried and Tempted 16 


4 LOVELL’S 

BY AUTHOR OF “ QUADROON A ” 

Plot and Counterplot 20 

BY EDWIN ARNOLD 

4o6 The Light of Asia 20 

465 Pearls of the Faith 16 

472 Indian Song of Songs 10 

BY EDWARD AVELING 

1006 An American Journey 30 

BY W. E. AYTOUN 

851 Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers 20 

BY ADAM BADEAU 

756 Conspiracy 25 

BY SIR SAMUEL BAKER 

206 Cast np by the Sea 20 

227 llifli' and Hound in Ceylon 20 

233 Eight Years’ Wandering in Ceylon. .20 

BY C. W. BALESTIER 

381 A Fair Device 20 

405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

BY R. M. BALLANTYNE 

215 The lied Eric 20 

226 The Fire Brigade 20 

239 Erling the Bold 20 

241 Deep Down 20 

BY S. BARING-GOULD 

875 Little Tu’ penny 10 

1061 Bed Spider 20 

BY A. E. BARR 

The Last of the MacAllisters 10 

BY FRANK BARRETT 

1009 The Great Hesper 20 

1130 Lieutenant Barnabas 20 

BY GEORGE MIDDLETON BAYNE 

460 Galaski 20 

BY AUGUST BEBEL 

712 Woman 30 

BY MRS. LENOX BELL 

Not to be Won 20 

Wife or Slave 20 

BY MRS. E. BEDELL BENJAMIN 

718 Our Roman Palace 20 

1077 Jim, the Parson 20 

BY A. BENRIMO 

470 Vic 15 

BY E. BERGER 

901 Charles Anchester 20 

BY W. BERGSOE 

77 Pillone 15 

BY H. BERNARD 

Locked Out 10 

BY E. BERTHET 

366 The Sergeant's Legacy 


LIBRARY. 


BY WALTER BESANT 

18 They Were Married ,10 

1(!3 Let Nothing You Dismay 10 

2.57 All in a Garden Fair 20 

268 When the Ship Comes Home 10 

384 Dorothy For.ster 20 

699 Self or Bearer 10 

842 The World Went Very Well Then . .20 

847 The Holy Rose 10 

1002 To Gall Her Mine. 20 

1109 Katharine Regina 20 

1159 In Luck at Last 20 

BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS 

203 Disarmed 15 

663 The Flower of Doom 10 

1005 Next of Kin 20 

BY BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON 

3 The Happy Boy 10 

4 Arne 10 

BY WILLIAM BLACK 

40 An Adventure in Thule, etc 10 

48 A Princess of Thule 20 

82 A Daughter of Heth 20 

85 Shandon Bells 20 

93 Macleod of Dare 20 

136 Yolande 20 

142 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. . .20 

146 White Wings 20 

1.53 Sunrise, 2 Parts, each 15 

178 Mailcap Violet 20 

ISO Kihneny 20 

1S2 That Beautiful Wretch 20 

184 Green Pastures, etc 20 

188 In Silk Attire 20 

213 The Three Feathers 20 

216 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

217 The Four MacNicols 10 

218 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P 10 

225 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

232 Monarch of Mincing Lane 20 

456 Judith Shakespeare 20 

584 Wise Women of Inverness 10 

678 White Heather 20 

958 Sabina Zembra 20 

BY R. D. BLACKMORE 

851 Lorn a Doone, Part 1 20 

851 [.orna Boone, Part II 20 

5136 Maid of Sker 20 

9.55 Cradock Nowell, Part 1 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part II 20 

961 Springhaven 20 

1034 Mary Anerley 20 

1035 Alice Lorraine 20 

1036 Cri stowed 20 

1037 Clara Vaughan 20 

1038 Cnpps the Carrier 20 

1039 Remarkable History of Sir Tbos. 

Upmore . . .20 

1040 Erema ; or. My Father’s Sin 20 

BY LILLIE D. BLAKE 

105 Woman's Place To-day 20 

597 Fettered for Life 25 


BY M. BLOUNT 

Two Wedding Rings 20 


3 


LOVELL’S 


BY NELLIE BLY 

Ten Days in a Mad House 20 

Six Months in Mexico 20 

BY KEMPER BOCOOK 

1078 Tax the Area 20 

BY MISS M. E. BEADDON 

88 The Golden Calf 20 

104 Lady Andley’a Secret 20 

214 Phantom Fortune 20 

2H0 Under the Red Flag 10 

444 An Ishrnaelite 20 

555 Aurora Floyd 20 

688 To the Bitter End. 20 

696 Dead Sea Fruit 20 

698 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

766 « Vixen 20 

78^4 The Octoroon 20 

814 Mohavvka 20 

868 One Thing Needful 20 

86't Barbara; or. Splendid Misery 20 

870 John Marehmont’s Legacy 20 

871 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

872 Taken at the Flood 20 

673 ^Asphoilel 20 

877 The Doctor's Wife 20 

878 Only a Clod 20 

679 Sir J a.sper'8 Tenant 20 

880 Lady’s Milo 20 

881 Birds of Prey ... . 20 

882 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

8&1 Rupert Godwin 20 

886 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

187 A Strange World 20 

888 Mount Royal 20 

889 Just As 1 Am 20 

890 Dead Men s Shoes 20 

892 ,Ho.st ges to Fortune 20 

893 Fen tf >n ’ s Q ti est 20 

^4 The Cloven Foot 2 ) 

Diavola. Part 1 20 

Diavo a, Part II 20 

Married in Haste — edited by Mi-s 

Braddon • . 20 

Pnt to the Test — edited by Miss 

Braddon 20 

Only a Woman— edited by Mis.q Brad- 
don 20 

BY ANNIE BRADSHAW 

716 A Crimson Stain 20 

EY CHARLOTTE BREMER 

418 Life of Fredrika Bremer 20 

BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

74 Jane Eyre 20 

897 Shirley 20 

BY RHODA BROUGHTON 

23 Second Thoughts 20 

230 Belinda 20 

781 Betty’s Visions 15 

811 Dr. Cnpid 20 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart 20 

1021 Red as a Rose is She 20 

1024 Cometh tip ns a Flower 20 

1025 Not Wisely but too Well 20 

11)26 Nancy 20 

1027 Joan 20 


LIBPwAPwY. 


BY ELIZABETH BARRETT 
BROWNING 

421 Aurora Leigh . . 20 

479 Poems 35 

BY ROBERT BROWNING 

552 Selections from Poetical Works 20 

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

443 Poems 20 

BY ROBERT BUCHANAN 

318 The New Abelard 20 

696 The Master of the Mine 10 

Matt 10 

The Shadow of the Sword 20 

God and Man 20 

The Martyrdom of Madeline 20 

Annan Water 20 

Love Me Forever 10 

BY JOHN BUNYAN 

200 The Pilgrim’s Progress 20 

BY FRED BURNABY 

Our Radicals 20 

BY ROBERT BURNS 

430 Poems 20 

BY REV. JAS. S, BUSH 

113 More Words about the Bible 20 

BY BEATRICE MAY BUTT 

Dclicia 20 

BY E. LASSETER BYNNER 

100 Nhnport, 2 Parts, each 15 

102 Tritons, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY HALL CAINE 

1143 The Deemster 20 

BY THOMAS CAMPBELL 

526 Poems 20 

BY MRS. CAMP3ELL-PRAED 

The Head Station 20 

BY ROSA NOUCHETE CAREY 

660 For Lilias 20 

911 Not Like other Girls .20 

912 Robeil Ord’s Atonement 20 

9.59 Wee Wide '20 

960 Wooed and Married 20 

1140 Only the Governess 20 

BY WM. CARLETON 

100 Willy Reilly 20 

820 Shane Fadh's Wedding 10 

821 Larry McFai land’s Wake 10 

822 The Party Fight and Funeral 10 

823 The Midnight Mass 10 

824 PliilPnreel t.lO 

825 An Irish Oath 10 

826 Going to May nooth 10 

827 Phelim O’Toole’s Courtship 10 

828 Dominick, the Poor Scholar 4il0 

829 Neal Malone 10 

BY LEWIS CARROLL 

,480 Alice’s Adventures 20 

! 481 Through the Looking-Glass 20 


LOVELL'S LIBRARY 




BY THOMAS CARLYLE 

486 History of French Revolution, 2 


Parts, each 25 

494 Past and Present 20 

500 The Diamond Necklace ; and Mira- 

beau 20 

603 Chartism 20 

508 Sartor Resartus 20 

514 Early Kings of Norway 20 

520 Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 10 

622 Goethe, and Miscellaneous Essays.. .10 

525 Life of Heyne 15 

528 Voltaire and Novalis 15 

541 Heroes, and Hero-Worship 20 

646 Signs of the Times 15 

650 German Literature 15 

661 Portraits of John Knox 15 

671 Count Cagliostro, etc 15 

678 Frederick the Great, Vol. I 20 

580 “ “ “ Vol. II 20 

691 ‘‘ ** “ Vol. Ill 20 

610 “ “ “ VoU IV 20 

619 “ “ Vol. V 20 

622 “ “ VoL VI 20 

626 ** “ Vol. VII 20 

628 ‘‘ “ “ Vol. VIII 20 

630 Life of John Sterling 20 

633 Latter-Day Pamphlets 20 

636 Life of Schiller 20 

643 Oliver Cromwell, Vol. 1 25 

646 ** ‘‘ Vol. II 25 

649 “ “ Vol. Ill 25 

652 Characteristics and other Essays. . . 15 
656 Corn Law Rhymes and other Essays. 15 
658 Baillie the Covenanter and other Es- 
says 15 

661 Dr. Francia and other Essays 15 

1088 Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, 

2 Parts, each 20 

1090 Wilhelm Mcister'’s Travels 20 

BY “CAVENDISH” 

422 Cavendish Cai'd Essays .15 

BY CERVANTES 

417 Don Quixote SO 

BY L. W. CHAMPNEY 

119 Bourbon Lilies 20 

BY VICTOR CHERBDLIEZ 

242 Samuel Brohl & Co 20 

BY MRS, C. CLARKE 

More True Than Truthful 20 

BY REV, JAS. FREEMAN CLARK 

167 Anti-Slavery Days 20 

BY CRISTABEL R. COLERIDGE 

1028 A Near Relation 20 

BY S* T. COLERIDGE 

623 Poems ..30 

BY B. COLLENSIE 

A Double Marriage 20 

BY BERTHA M. CLAY 

laS Her Mother’s Sin 20 

2Ti Dora Thorne. 20 

287 Beyond Pardon 20 

420 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

423 Repented at Leisure 20 


453 Sunshine and Roses 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 20 

474 A Woman’s Temptation 20 

476 Love Works Wonders . . 20 

558 Pair but False 10 

593 Between Two Sins 10 

651 •At War with Herself 15 

669 Hilda 10 

689 ^er Martyrdom 20 

692 Lord Lynn’s Choice 10 

694 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

695 Wedded and Parted 10 

700 In Cupid’s Net 10 

701tLady Darner’s Secret 20 

718 A Gilded Sin 10 

720 Between Two Loves 20 

727 For Another’s Sin 20 

730 Romance of a Young Girl 20 

733 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

738 A Golden Dawn 10 

739 Like no Other Love 10 

740 A Bitter Atonement 20 

744 iEvelyu’s Folly 20 

752 ^Set in Diamonds ■ 20 

764 A Fair Mystery 20 

800 Thorns and Orange Blossoms 10 

801 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

803 Love's Warfare 10 

804 Madolin’s Lover 20 

806%From Out the Gloom 20 

807 Wiiich Loved Him Best 10 

808 A True Magdalen 20 

809 The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

810 Prince Charlie’s Daughter .10 

811 A Golden Heart 10 

812 Wife in Name Only 20 

815vA Woman’s Error 20 

896 Marjorie 20 

922 A Wilful Maid 20 

923 Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce 20 

926 Claribel’s Love Story 20 

928 Thrown on the World 20 

929/ Under a Shadow . . .20 

930^ Struggle for a Ring 20 

932 Hilary’s Folly 20 

933 A Haunted Life 20 

934 A Woman’s Love Story 20 

969 A Woman’s War 20 

984%’Twixt Smile and Tear 20 

985%Lady Diana’s Pride 20 

986 Belle of Lynn 20 

988 Marjorie's Fate 20 

989teweet Cymbeline 20 

1007 ^Redeemed by Love 20 

1012 The Squire's Darling 10 

1013»The Mysterv of Colde Fell 20 

1030 On Her Wedding Morn 10 

1031 The Shattered Idol 10 

1033 Letty Leigh 10 

1041 The Mystery of the Holly Tree 10 

1042 The Earl’s Error 10 

1043 Arnold’s Promise 10 

1051 An Unnatural Bondage., 10 

1064fcThe Duke’s Secret ....20 

Diana’s Discipline 20 

Golden Gate 20 

'His Wife’s Judgment 20 

A Guiding Star 20 

A Rose in Thorns 20 

^A Thorn in Her Heart 2G 

\A Nameless Secret ^ 

A Mad Love ,20 


lovell\s library 


i 


BY MABEL COLLINS 


Lord Vanecourt's Daughter 20 

The Prettiest Woman in Warsaw . . .20 

BY WILKIE COLLINS 

8 The Moonstone, Part 1 10 

9 The Moonstone, Part II 10 

24 The New Magdalen 20 

87 Heart and Science 20 

418 “I Say No” 20 

487 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 15 

683 The Ghost’s Touch 10 

686 My Lady’s Money 10 

722 The Evil Genius 20 

839 The Guilty River 10 

957 The Dead Secret 20 

996 The Queen of Hearts 20 

1003 The Haunted Hotel 10 

1176 The Legacy of Cain 20 

BY HUGH CONWAY 

429 Called Back 15 

462 Dai'k Days 15 

612 Carriston’s Gift 10 

617 Paul Vargas: a Mystery 10 

631 A Family Affair 20 

667 Story of a Sculptor 10 

672 Slings and Arrows 10 

716 A Cardinal Sin 20 

745 Living or Dead 20 

750 Somebody’s Story 10 

968 Bound by a Spell 20 

All in One 20 

A Dead Man’s Face 10 

BY J. FENIMORE COOPER 

6 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

866 The Pathfinder 20 

878 Homeward Bound 20 

441 Home as Found 20 

463 The Deerslayer 30 

467 The Prairie 20 

471 The Pioneer 25 

484 The Two Admirals 20 

488 The Water- Witch 20 

491 The Red Rover 20 

BOl The Pilot 20 

BOG Wing and Wing 20 

B12 Wyandotte..., 20 

B17 Heidenmauer 20 

B19 The Headsman 20 

B24 The Bravo 20 

627 Lionel Lincoln 20 

B29 Wept of Wish -ton- Wish 20 

632 Afloat and Ashore 20 

B39 Miles Wallingford 20 

B43 The Monikins 20 

B48 Mercedes of Castile 20 

653 The Sea Lions 20 

B59 The Crater 20 

662 Oak Openings 20 

670 Satan stoe 20 

676 The Chain-Bearer 20 

687 Ways of the Hour 20 

601 Precaution 20 

603 Redskins 25 

611 Jack Tier 20 

BY C. H. W. COOK 

1099 The True Solution of the Labor 
Question 10 


BY KINAHAN CORNWALLIS 


409 Adrift with a Vengeance 25 

BY THE '‘COUNTESS” 

The World Between Them 20 

A Passion Flower 20 

BY GEORGIANA M. CRAIK 

1006 A Daughter of the People 20 

BY MADAME AUGUSTE CRAVEN 

Fleurange 20 

BY R. CRISWELL 

350 Grandfather Lickshingle 20 

BY B. M. CROKER 

Pretty Miss Neville 20 

BY MAY CROMMELIN 

Goblin Gold 10 

BY S. C. CUMBERLAND 

The Rabbi’s Spell 10 

BY MRS. DALE 

Fair and False 20 

Behind the Silver Veil 20 

BY R. H. DANA, JR. 

464 Two Years before the Mast 20 

BY DANTE 

345 Dante’s Vision of Hell, Purgatory, 

and Paradise 20 

BY FLORA A. DARLING 

260 Mrs. Darling's War Letters 20 

BY JOYCE DARRELL 

315 Winifred Power 20 

BY ALPHONSE DAUDET 

478 Tartarin of Tarascon 20 

604 Sidonie 20 

613 Jack 20 

615 The Little Good-for-Nothing 20 

645 The Nabob 25 

Sappho 10 

BY REV. C. H. DAVIES, D.D. 

453 Mystic London 20 


BY VARINA ANNE DAVIS 

1166 An Irish Knight of the 19th Ccntury.26 

BY THE DEAN OF ST. PAUL’S 


431 Life of Spenser 10 

BY C. DEBANS 

475 A Sheep in Wolfs Clothing .20 

John Bull’s Misfortunes 10 

BY REV. C. F. DEEMS, D.D. 

704 Evolution 20 

BY DANIEL DEFOE 

428 Robinson Crusoe 26 

BY A. D’ENNERY 

The Two Orphans 20 

The Wife’s Sacrifice . . 10 


8 


Lovell’s 


BY THOS. DE QUINCEY 

20 The Spanish Nun 10 

1070 Confessions of an English Opium 
Eater 20 

BY CARL DETLEF 

29 Irene; or, Tlie Lonely Manor 20 

BY CHARLES DICKENS 

10 Oliver Twist 20 

88 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

75 Child’s History of England 20 

91 Pickwick Paper'^, 2 Parts, each 20 

140 Tlte Cricket on the Hearth 10 

144 Old Curiosity Shop, 2 Parts, each... 15 

150 Barnaby Rndge, 2 I’arts, each 15 

1.58 David Copperfield, 2 Parts, each. . . .20 

170 Hard Times 20 

192 Great Expectations 20 

201 Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 Parts, each. . . .20 

210 American Notes .. 20 

219 Dombey and Son. 2 Parts, each 20 

22.8 Little Dorrit, 2 Parts, each. ... 21) 

228 Our Mutual Friend, 2 Parts, each... 20 
2.31 Nicholas Nickleby, 2 Parts, each. . . .20 

284 Pictures from Italy 15 

2^37 The Boy at M ugby 10 

244 Bleak House, 2 Parts, each 20 

246 Sketches of the Young Couples 10 

2t)l Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

267 The Haunted House, etc 10 

270 The Mudfog Papers, etc .. 10 

278 Sketches by Boz 20 

274 A Christmas Carol, etc 15 

282 Uncommercial Traveller 20 

288 Somebody’s Lnggage, etc 10 

298 The Battle of Life, etc 10 

297 Mystery of Edwin JDrood 20 

298 Reprinted Pieces “. 20 

302 No Thoroughfare 15 

487 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices — -.-.10 

BENJAMIN DISRAELI’S WORKS 

Lothair 20 

The Young Dut'o 20 

Tancred ; or. The New Crusade 20 

Miriam A Iroy ...20 

Henrietta Temple 20 

Coningsby 20 

Sybil ; or. The Two Nations 20 

Venctia 20 

Endymion 20 

Contmina Fleming 20 

Vivian Gray, Part 1 20 

Vivian Gray, Part IE 20 

The Rise of Iskander and Other 

Tales ’... ..20 

Lord Beaconsficld’s Life and Corre- 
spondence 10 

BY WILLIAM E0D30N 

A Choice of Chance 20 

BY PROF. DOWDEN 

404 Life of Southey 10 

BY EDMUND DOWNEY 

1126 A House of Fears 20 

In One Town 20 

BY EDITH S. DREWRY 

Baptized with a Curse i • - * » r2U 


LIBRARY. 


BY JOHN DRYDEN 

498 Poems SO 

BY F. DU BOISGOBEY 

1018 The Condemned Door 20 * 

1080 The Blue Veil ; or. The Crime of 

the Tower 20 

1120 The Matapan Affair. 20 

1146 The Detective's Eye 10 

1148 The Red Lottery Ticket 10 

11.56 The Severed Hand 20 

ini A Fight for a Fortune 20 

1172 Bertha’s Secret 20 

1174 The Results of a Duel 20 

The Parisian Detective 20 

BY THE “DUCHESS” 

58 Portia 20 

76 Molly Bawn 20 

78 Phyllis 20 

86 Monica 10 

90 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

92 Airy Fairy Lilian 20 

126 Loys, Lord Beresford 20 

182 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

PiS Faith and Unfaith. 20 

168 Beauty’s Daughters 20 

234 Rossmoyne 20 

451 Doris 20 

477 A Week In Killarney 10 

680 In Durance Vile 10 

018 Dick’s Sweetheart ; or, “ O Tender 

Dolores” 20 

621 A Maiden all Forlorn ...10 

624 A Passive Crime 10 

721 Lady Branksmere 20 

785 A Mental Struggle 20 

787 The Haunte d Chamber 10 

792 Her W. ek’s Amusement 10 

802 Lady Valworth's Diamonds 20 

1065 A Modern Circe 20 

1072 The Duchess 20 

1136 Marvel 20 

BY LORD DUFFERIN 

95 Letters from High Latitudes 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS 

761 Count of Mdite Cristo, Part 1 20 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part II 20 

775 The Three Guardsmen 20 

786 Twenty Years After 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo. Pait I. ..20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part II. . .20 

885 Monte Cristo and His Wife 20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Parti. ..20 

891 Countess of M nte Cristo, Part II. ..20 

998 Beau Tancr de 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JR. 

992 Camille 10 

Annette. . 20 

BY MOSTYN DURWARD 

For Better, For Worse 20 

Sweet as a Rose 20 

AMELIA B. EDWARDS’ WORKS 

Barbara’s History 20 

Miss Carew 20 

My Brother’s Wife 20 

Hand and Glove 30 


9 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDS 


681 A G-irton Girl 20 

Jet : Her Face or Her Fortune 10 

A Ballroom Repentance... 20 

A Point of Honor 20 

Ou{?ht We to Vi?it Her 20 

Leah : A Woman of Fashion 20 

Archie Lovell 20 

A Blue Stocking 10 

Susan Fielding 20 

A Vagabond Heroine 10 

Philip Enrnsciiife 20 

Vivian the Beauty 10 

Steven Lawrence 20 

A Playwright’s Daughter ,10 

BY GEORGE ELIOT 

66 Adam Bede, 2 Parts, each 15 

69 A mos Barton 10 

71 Silas Marner 10 

79 Romola, 2 Pai ts. each 15 

149 Janet’s llepentance 10 

151 Felix Holt 20 

1T4 ^Middlemarch, 2 Parts, each 20 

195 Daniel Deromla, 2 Parts, each 20 

202 Theophrastus Such 10 

205 The Spnni<h Gypsy.and other Poems20 

207 The Mill on the Floss, 2 Parts, eachJS 

208 Brother Jacob, <tc.. 10 

374 Essays, and Leaves from a Note- 

Book 20 

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

373 Essays, First Series 20 

1167 Essays, Second Series 20 

EVA EVERGREEN’S WORKS 

Ten Years of His Life 20 

Agatha 20 

BY KATE EYRE 

A Step in the Dark 20 

ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 
EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY 

848 Bnnyan, by J. A. Fronde 10 

407 Bnrke, by John Morley 10 

334 Burns, by Principal Shairp 10 

347 Byron, by Profe'ssor Nichol .10 

413 Chancer, by Prof. A. W. Ward 10 

424 Cowper, by Goldwin Smith 10 

377 Defoe, by William Minto 10 

383 Gibbon, by J, C. Morrison 10 

226 Goldsmith, by William Black 10 

869 Hume, by Professor Huxley 10 

401 Johnson, by Leslie Stephen 10 

3St) Lorke, by Thomas Fowler 10 

31>2 Milton, by Mark Pattison 10 

398 Pope, by Leslie Stephen 10 

364 Scott, by R. H. Hntton 10 

361 Shelley, by J. Symonds 10 

404 Southey, by Professor Dowden. ...10 

4^H S|>enser, by the Dean of St. Paul’s,. 10 
844 Thackeray, by Anthony Trollope. ..10 
410 Wordsworth, by F. Myers 10 

BY OLIVE P. FAIRCHILD 

A Struggle for Love 20 

BY HARRIET FARLEY 

478 Christmas Stories 20 


BY B. L. FARJEON 

243 Gautran ; or, HuUbe of White Shad- 


ows 20 

654 Lc veV Harvest 20 

874 Nine of Hearts 20 

Th»^ Sacred Nugget 20 

Grif 20 

Aunt Parker 20 

A Secret Inheritance 20 

LY J. M. FARRAR 

Life of Mary Anderson 10 

BY F. W. FARRAR, D.D. 

19 Seekers after God 20 

50 Early Days of Christianit 3 % 2 Parts, 
each 20 

BY GEORGE MANNVILLE FENN 

1004 This Man's Wife 20 

llXU) The Bag of Diamonds 20 

1129 The Story of Antony Graco 20 

1132 One Maid’s Mii^chief 20 

The Dark House 10 

BY OCTAVE FEUILLET 

41 A Marriage in High Life 20 

987 Romance of a Poor Youn^r Man .... 10 
Led Astray, adapted by Helen M. 
Lewis 20 

GERALDINE FLEMING’S WORKS 

False 20 

A Sinless Crime 20 

Leola Dale’s Fortune 20 

Who Was the Heir? 20 

Only a Girl’s Love 20 

Countess Isabel 10 

How He Won Her 20 

Sun hine and Gloom 20 

A Sisters Sacrifice 20 

A Terrible Secret 20 

Slaves of the Ring 20 

Entrapped 20 

$5,000 Reward 20 

Wild Margaret 20 

LAURA C. FORD’S WORKS 

Enemies Born 20 

Electra 20 

For Honor’s Sake 20 

Daisy Darrell 20 

BY GERTRUDE FORDE 

1162 OnlvaCoral Girl 20 

In the Old Palazzo .20 

BY MRS. FORRESTER 

760 Fair Women 20 

818 Once Again 20 

•'^43 My L^rd and My Lady 20 

^^44 Dolores 20 

850 My Hero 20 

859 Viva 20 

S60 Omnia Vanitas 10 

Sill Dana Carew 20 

862 From Olympus to Hades 20 

S6^I Rhona 20 

864 Roy and Viola 20 

June 20 

866 MIgnon 20 

S67 A Young Man’s Fancy 20 


10 


lovell’s 


BY FKIEDKICH, BARON DE LA 
MOTTE FOUQUE 

711 Undine 10 

BY THOMAS FOWLER 

380 Life of Locke 10 

BY FRANCESCA 

177 The Story of Ida 10 

BY R. E. FRANCILLON 

319 A Real Queen 20 

856 Golden Bells 10 

BY ALBERT FRANKLYN 

122 Ameline de Bourg 15 

BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH 

485 My Roses — 20 

BY J. A. FROHDE 

348 Life of Bunyan. 10 

BY EMILE GABORIAU 

114 Monsieur Lecoq, 2 Parts, each 20 

116 The Lerouge Case 20 

120 Other People’s Money 20 

129 In Peril of His Life 20 

138 The Gilded Clique 20 

155 Mystery of Orcival 20 

161 Promise of Marriage 10 

258 File No. 113 20 

1119 The Little Old Man of the Bati- 

gnolles 20 

1123 The Count’s Millions, Part 1 20 

“ “ “ Part II...... 20 

1152 The Slaves of Paris, Part 1 20 

“ “ “ Part II 20 

BY HENRY GEORGE 

52 Progress and Poverty .* 20 

390 Land Question 10 

393 Social Problems 20 

796 Property in Land 15 

BY CHARLES GIBBON 

57 The Golden Shaft 20 

Amoret 20 

ANNIE A. GIBBS’ WORKS 

Irene 20 

The Waif of the Storm 20 

The Forced Marriage 20 

A Blighted Life 20 

A Cruel Woman 20 

Her Father's Sin 20 

BY THEODORE GIFT 

Pretty Miss Bellew 20 

BY W. S. GILBERT 

The Mikado and other Operas 20 

BY WENONA GILMAN 

Oui 20 

Stella, the Star 20 

“General Utility” 20 

BY J. W. VON GOETHE 

342 Goethe's Fau.st 20 

343 Goethe's Poems 20 

1088 Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, 

2 Parts, each 20 

1090 Wilhelm Meister’s Travels 20 


LIBRARY. 


BY IDA LINN GIRARD 

A Dangerous Game. . . 10 

BY NIKOLAI V. GOGOL 

1016 Taras Bulba 20 

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

61 Vicar of Wakefield 10 

362 Plays and Poems 20 

BY MRS. GORE 

89 The Dean's Daughter 20 

BY MISS GRANT 

The Sun Maid 20 

BY JAMES GRANT 

49 The Secret Despatch 20 

ANNABEL GRAY’S WORKS 

What Love Will Do 10 

Terribly Tempted 10 

EVELYN GRAY’S WORKS 

A AVoman’s Fault 20 

As Fate Would Have It 20 

BY HENRI GREVILLE 

ICOl Frankley 20 

BY HENRY GREVILLE 

Wild Oats 20 

BY MRS. GREY 

The Flirt 20 

BY CECIL GRIFFITH 

732 Victory Deane 20 

BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS 

709 No. 99 10 

THE BROTHERS GRIMM 

221 Fairy Tales, Illustrated 20 

BY LAURENCE GRONLUND 

1096 The Co-operative Commonwealth.. 30 

BY GUINEVERE 

Little Jewell 20 

BY LIEUT. J. W. GUNNISON 

440 History of the Mormons 16 

BY F. W. HACKLANDER 

606 Forbidden Fruit 20 

BY ERNST HAECKEL 

97 India and Ceylon 20 

BY H. RIDER HAGGARD 

813 -King Solomon’s Mines 20 

848 She .. 20 

876 The AVitch’s Head 20 

900 Jess 20 

941 Dawn ....20 

1020 Allan Quatermain 20 

1100 Tale of Three Lions 10 

BY A. EGMONT HAKE 

371 The Story of Chinese Gordon 20 

BY LUDOVIC HALEVY 

15 L’Abbo Constantin 20 


11 


LOVELL’s LIBRAET. 


WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF 
“HE,” “ IT,” ETC. 


** He,” a companion to “ She” 20 

“It” 20 

“Pa” 2U 

“Ma” 20 

King Solomon’s Wives 20 

King Solomon s Treasures 20 

“ Bess,” a companion to “ Jess” 20 


BY DAVID J. HILL, LL.D. 

533 Principles and Fallacies of Social- 
ism 15 

BY M. L. HOLBROOK, M.D. 

356 Hygiene of the Brain 25 

MRS. CASHEL HOEY’S WORKS 

The Lover's Creed 20 

A Stern Chase 20 


MARY GRACE HALPINE’S WORKS 


A Girl Hero 20 

A Letter 20 

Discarded 20 

A Strange Betrothal 20 

His Brother’s Widow 20 

A Wife’s Crime 20 

The Young School-Teacher 20 

A Great Divorce Case 20 

A Curious Disar)pearance 20 

The Divorced Wife 20 

Blind Elsie’s Crime 20 

Wronged 20 

BY GEORGE EALSE 

Weeping Ferry 20 

BY THOMAS HARDY 

48 Two on a Tower 20 

167 .Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 
maid 10 

749 The Mayor of Casterbridge 20 

956 The Woodlanders 20 

964 Far from the Madding Crowd 20 


BY MARION HARLAND 

107 Housekeeping and llomemaking 15 

BY JOHN HARRISON AND M. 


COMPTON 

414 Over the Summer Sea 20 

BY J. B. HARWOOD 

269 One False, both Fair 20 

BY JOSEPH HATTON 

7 Clvtie 20 

137 Cniel London 20 

1147 The Abbey Murder 20 

The Great World 20 

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

370 Twice Told Tales 20 

376 Grandfather's Chair 20 

BY MARY CECIL HAY 

466 Under the Will 10 

566 The Arundel Motto 20 

590 Old Myddleton’s Money 20 

7«7 A Wicked Girl 10 

971 Nora’s Love Test 20 

972 The Squire’s Legacy 20 

973 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

974 My First Offer 10 

975 Back to the Old Home 10 

976 For Her Dear Sake 20 

977 Hidden Perils 20 

978 Victor and Vamiuished 20 

1029 Brenda Yorke 10 | 


MRS. H. C. HOFFMAN’S WORKS 


A Treacherous Woman 20 

Married by the Mayor 20 

A Harvest of Thorns 20 

Laughing Eyes 20 

Married at Midnight 20 

Lost to the World 20 

Love Conquers Pride 20 

A Miserable Woman 20 

A Sister’s Vengeance 20 

Leah’s Mistake 20 

A Tom-Boy 20 

Broken Vows 20 

BY MRS. M. A. HOLMES 

709 Woman against Woman 20 

743 A Woman’s V engeance 20 

BY PAXTON HOOD 

73 Life of Cromwell 15 

BY THOMAS HOOD 

611 Poems 30 

BY TIGHE HOPKINS 

’Twixt Love and Duty 20 

BY ARABELLA M. HOPKINSON 

Life’s Fitful Fever 20 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF 
“ HIS WEDDED WIFE ” 

His Wedded Wife 20 

A Great Mistake 20 

A Fatal Dower 20 

Barbara 20 

BY HORRY AND WEEMS 

36 Life of Marion 20 

BY ROBERT HOUDIN 

14 The Tricks of the Greeks 20 

BY ADAH M. HOWARD 

970 Against Her Will 20 

993 The Child Wife 10 

A Woman’s Atonement 20 

Irene Gray’s Legacy 20 

Sundered Hearts 20 

Doubly Wronged 20 

Uncle Ned’s Cabin 20 

A Blighted Home 10 

A Mother’s Mistake 20 

A Haunted Life 20 

A Desperate Woman 20 

Little Nana 20 

By Mutual Consent 90 

Little Madeline 90 

Little Sunshine 20 


BY MRS. FELICIA HEMANS 

683 Poems 30 


634 


BY MARIE HOWLAND 

Papa’s Own Girl 30 


13 LOVELL’S LIBRART* 


BY EDWARD HOWLAND 


742 Social Solutioua, Part I 10 

747 “ “ Part II 10 

753 “ “ Put in 10 

702 “ “ Part IV 10 

765 “ “ Party 10 

774 “ “ Part VI 10 

778 “ “ Part VII 10 

782 “ “ Part VI 11 10 

785 “ Part IX 10 

788 “ ■“ PartX 10 

791 “ “ Part XI 10 

795 “ “ Part XII 10 

BY JOHN W. HOYT, LL.D. 

535 Studies in Civil Service 15 

BY THOMAS HUGHES 

61 Tom Brown's School Days 20 

186 Tom Brown at Oxford, 2 Farts, each. 15 

BY VICTOR HUGO 

784 Lea Miserables, Part 1 20 

781 “ “ Part IT 20 

784 “ “ Part III 20 

BY STANLEY HUNTLEY 

109 The Spoopendyke Papers 20 

BY R. H. HUTTON 

364 Life of Scott 20 

BY PROF. HUXLEY 

369 Life of Hume 10 

BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM 

The Rival Cousins 20 

BY WASHINGTON IRVING 

147 The Sketch Book 20 

198 Tales of a Traveller 20 

199 Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part 1 20 

Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part II 20 

224 Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey .. .10 
236 Knickerbocker History of New York. 20 

249 The Crayon Papers 20 

263 The Alhambra 15 

272 Conquest of Granada 20 

279 Conquest of Spain 10 

281 Bracebridge Hall 20 

290 Salmagundi 20 

299 Astoria 20 

301 Spanish Voyages 20 

305 A Tour on the Prairies 10 

.3(18 Life of Mahomet, 2 Parts, each 15 

310 Oliver Goldsmith 20 

311 Captain Bonneville 20 

314 M'lorish Chronicles 10 

321 Wolfert’s Roost a^d Miscellanies .... 10 


BY SAMUEL JOHNSON 

44 Rasselas 10 

BY MAURICE JOKAI 

7.54 A Modern Midas 20 

BY MRS. EMMA GARRISON JONES 

A Terrible Crime 20 

BY JOHN KEATS 

531 Poems 25 

BY EDWARD KELLOGG 

111 Labor and Capital 20 

BY GRACE KENNEDY 

106 Dunallan, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY JOHN P. KENNEDY 

67 Horse-Shoe Robinson, 2 Parts, each. 15 

BY CHARLES KINGSLEY 

39 The Hermits 20 

64 Hypatia, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY HENRY KINGSLEY 

726 Austin Eliot 20 

728 The Hillyars and Burtons 20 

731 Leighton Court 20 

736 Geoffrey Hainlyn 30 

BY W. H. G. KINGSTON 

2.54 Peter the Whaler 20 

322 Mar k Seaworth 20 

324 Round the World 20 

335 The Young Foresters 20 

337 Saltwater 20 

833 The Midshipman 20 

BY F. KIRBY 

454 The Golden Dog (Ae chien d'or) 40 

BY ANDREW LANG 

The Mark of Cain 10 

BY A. LA POINTE 

445 The Rival Doctors 20 

BY MISS MARGARET LEE 

25 Divorce 20 

600 A Brighton Night 20 

725 Dr. Wilmer’s Love 25 

741 Lorimer and Wife 20 

BY VERNON LEE 

797 A Phantom Lover 10 

798 Prince of the Hundred Soups 10 

BY MRS. LEITH-ADAM3 

Aunt Hepsy’s Foundling 20 

BY JULES LERMINA 

469 The Chase 20 


G. P. R. JAMES’ WORKS 

Agnes Sorel 20 

Darnley 20 

BY HARRIET JAY 

17 The Dark Colleen 20 

BY EDWARD JENKINS 

The Secret of Her Lift?. 20 

BY EVELYN K. JOHNSON 

Tangles Unraveled 20 


BY CHARLES LEVER 

327 Harry Lorrequer 20 

789 Charles O’Malley. 2 Parts, each 20 

794 Tom Burke of Ours, 2 Parts, each. .20 

BY LAURA JEAN LIBBEY 

A Fatal Wooing 20 

BY MARY LINSKILL 

A Lost Son 10 


LOVELL'S LIBHAllT 


13 


BY H. W. LONGFELLOW 

1 Hyperion 20 

2 Outre-Mer 20 

483 Poems 20 

BY SAMUEL LOVER 

163 The Happy Man 10 

719 Rory O'More 20 

849 Handy Andy 20 

BY COMMANDER LOVETT-CAM- 
ERON. 

817 The Cruise of the Black Prince. . . .20 

BY MRS. H. LOVETT-CAMERON 

927 Pure Gold 20 

BY SIR JOHN LUBBOCK 

1164 The Pleasures of Life 20 

BY HENRY W. LUCY 

06 Gideon Fleyce 20 

BY HENRY C. LUKENS 

131 Jets and Flashes 20 

BY EDNA LYALL 

962 Knights-Errant 20 

BY E. LYNN LYNTON 

276 lone Stewart 20 

BY LORD LYTTON 

11 The Coming Race 10 

12 Leila 10 

31 F<mest Maltravers 20 

82 The Haunted House 10 

46 Alice : A Sequel to Ernest Maltra- 

vers 20 

65 A Strange Story 20 

69 Last 1 iays of Pompeii 20 

81 Zanoni 20 

8-4 Nittht and Morning, 2 Parts, each. .1.5 

117 Paul Clifford 20 

121 Lady of Lyons It) 

1^ Money 10 

1.52 Richelieu 1C 

160 Rienzi, 2 Parts, each 15 

176 Pelham 20 

204 Eneene Aram 20 

222 The Disowned 20 

240 Kenelm (’hillingly 20 

245 What Will He Do with It ? 2 Parts 

each 20 

217 Devereux 20 

2.50 The Caxtons, 2 Parts, each 15 

251 Lncreria 20 

255 Last of the Barons. 2 Parts, each . . .15 

259 The Parisinns. 2 Parts, each 20 ' 

271 My Novel. 3 Parts, each 20 I 

276 Harold, 2 Parts, each 15 

^9 GfKiolphin 20 

294 Pilgrims of the Rhine 15 i 

317 Pausanias 15 

BY LORD MACAULAY 

833 Lays of Ancient Rome 20 

BY CHARLES MACKAY 

1187 The Twin Soul 20 

BY KATHERINE S. MACQUOID , 

898 Joan Wentworth 20 | 

Marjorie < 1 1 1 -20 , 


BY J. F. MALLOY 

1139 A Modern Magician 20 

BY E. MARLITT 

771 The Old Mam’selle's Secret 20 

1053 Gold Elsie 20 

BY G. MARNELL 

Merit re/ stov Money 20 

BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT 

212 The Privateersman 20 

BY FLORENCE MARRYAT. 

903 The Master Passion ; . .20 

‘.K)4 A Lucky Disappointment ...10 

905 Her l.ord and Master 20 

906 My Own Child vQ 

!H)7 No Intentions 20 

908 Wi itten in Fire 20 

909 A Little Stepson 10 

910 With Cnpid’s Eyes 20 

9M1 Why Not? 20 

907 My Sister the Actress 20 

938 Capt.ain Non on’s Diary 10 

939 Girls of Feversham 20 

940 The Root «.f all Evil 20 

912 Facing the Footlights 20 

943 Peti’onel 20 

944 A Star and a Heart 10 

945 Ansre 20 

946 A Harvest of Wild Oats 20 

947 The Poison of A-^ps 10 

948 Fair-Haired Alda 20 

919 The Heir Presumptive 20 

9.50 Under the Lilie.< and Roses 20 

951 Heart of Jane Werner 20 

952 Love's ConOict, Part I 20 

9.52 Love’s Conflict, Part II 20 

953 Phyllida 20 

954 Out of His Rcckonint? 10 

979 Her WorM against a Lie .20 

990 Open Sesame 20 

991 Mad Dnmare.sq 20 

999 Fitihting the Air 20 

Peeress and Player 20 

Driven to Bay . 20 


The Confessions of Gerald E»tcourt..20 

BY C. MARTIN 

The Russians at the Gates of Herat.. 10 

BY MRS. HERBERT MARTIN 

For a Dream’s Sake 20 

Amor Vincit 20 

BY HARRIET MARTINSAU 

3.53 Tales of tlie French Revolution 15 

354 Loom and Lugger *20 

:il)7 Bcrlceley the Banker 20 

3.58 Homes' Abroad 15 

:363 For Each and For All 15 

372 Hill and Valley 16 

j 379 The Charmed Sea 15 

' 388 Life in the Wilds 15 

395 Sowers not Reapers 15 

1 400 Glen of the Echoes 15 

0V7EN MARSTON’S WORKS 

Peai.tv’s Marriage 20 

A Dark Marriage Morn 20 

Lover and Husband 20 


14 


LOVELLS LIBRARY 


BY HELEN MATHERS 

165 Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

1046 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye 20 

1047 Sam’s Sweetheart 20 

1048 Story of a Sin 20 

1049 Cherry Ripe 20 

1050 My Lady Green Sleeves 20 

Found Out 20 

BY A. MATHEY 

48 Duke of Kandos 20 

60 The Two Duchesses 20 

BY W. S. MAYO 

70 The Berber 20 

BY C. MAXWELL 

A Story of Three Sisters 20 

BY LOUISE McCarthy 

Qabrielle 20 

BY j. H. McCarthy 

115 An Outline of Irish History 10 

BY JUSTIN McCarthy, m.p. 

278 Maid of Athens 20 

BY T. L. MEADE 

328 How It All Came Round 20 

BY OWEN MEREDITH 

881 Lucile 20 

BY PAUL MERRITT 

Daughters of Eve 20 

MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER’S 
WORKS 

A Dreadful Temptation 20 

The Bride of the Tomb 20 

An Old Man’s Darling 20 

Queenie’s Terrible Secret 20 

Jaqnelina 20 

Little Golden’s Daughter 20 

The Rose and the Lily 20 

Countess Vera 20 

Bonnie Dora 20 

Guy Kenmore’s Wife 20 

BY JOHN MILTON 

889 Paradise Lost 20 

1092 Poems 35 

BY WILLIAM MINTO 

877 Life of Defoe 10 

The Crack of Doom 20 

BY MRS. MOLESWORTH 

1008 3Iarrying and Giving in Marriage . .10 

BY SUSANNA MOODIE 

1067 Geoffrey Moncton 30 

1068 Flora Lyndsay 20 

1074 Roughing it in the Bush 20 

1076 Life in the Backwoods 20 

1085 Life in the Clearings 20 

BY THOMAS MOORE 

416 LallaRookh 20 

487 Poems 40 

BY JOHN MORLEY 

407 Lite of Burke 10 


BY J. C. MORRISON 

388 Life of Gibbon 10 

BY EDWARD H. MOTT 

139 Pike County Folks 20 

BY ALAN MUIR 

312 Golden Girls 20 

BY LOUISA MUHLBACH 

1000 Frederick the Great and his Court. .30 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress 30 

1054 Goethe and Schiller 30 

1091 Queen Hortense 30 

BY MAX MULLER 

130 India : What Can It Teach Us ? 20 

BY MISS MULOCK 

33 John Halifax 20 

435 Miss Tommy 16 

751 King Arthur 20 

Young Mrs. Jardine 20 

Two Marriages 20 

BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY 

197 By the Gate of the Sea 16 

758 Cynic Fortune 10 

1116 One Traveller Returns 20 

The Way of the World 20 

Rainbow Gold 20 

First Person Singular 20 

Hearts 20 

A Life’s Atonement 20 

Val Strange 20 

Aunt Rachel 10 

BY F. MYERS 

410 Life of Wordsworth 10 

BY FLORENCE NEELY 

564 Hand-Book for the Kitchen 20 


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83 Right and Wrong Uses of the Bible . . 20 

BY JOHN NICHOL 


347 Life of Byron 10 

BY JAMES R. NICHOLS, M.D. 

376 Science at Home 20 

BY MILTON NOBLES 

The Phoenix 20 

BY W. E. NORRIS 

108 No New Thing 20 

692 That Terrible Man 10 

779 My Friend Jim 10 

BY CHRISTOPHER NORTH 

439 Noctes Ambrosianae 30 

BY F. E. M. NOTLEY 

1095 From the Other Side 20 

BY WM. O’BRIEN 

O’Hara’s Mission 20 

BY NANNIE P. O’DONOGHUE 

Unfairly Won 20 

BY ALICE O’HANLON 

A Diamond in the Rough 20 


LOVELL’S LIBRAEY 


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Claire and the Forge-Master 20 

BY LAURENCE OLIPHANT 

196 Altiora Peto 20 

BY MRS. OLIPHANT 

124 The Ladies Lindorea 20 

179 The Little Pilgrim 10 

176 Sir Tom 20 

a26 The Wizard’s Son 26 

368 Old Lady Mary 10 

602 Oliver’s Bride 10 

717 A Country Gentleman 20 

83] The Son of his Father 20 

920 John; a Love Story 20 

926 A Poor Gentleman 20 

994 Lucy Crofton 10 

The Minister’s Wife 20 

Greatest Heiress in England 20 

A House Divided Against Itself 20 

Efiie Ogilvie 20 

Margaret Maitland 20 

BY MAX O’RELL 

886 John Bull and His Island 20 

469 John Bull and His Daughters 20 

John Bull’s Neighbor 10 

D. O’SULLIVAN’S WORKS 

414 O’Eriscoll of Darra ... 20 

416 Famed Fontenoy .... I 20 

416 A Strange Case 20 

417 Mary Mavourneen 20 

418 The Lion of Limerick 20 

419 The Beauty of Ben burb 20 

420 The Maid of Cremona 20 

421 Eviction 2' 

502 Eileen Alanna 20 

604 Robert Enlmet 20 

BY OUIDA 

112 Wanda, 2 Parts, each 16 

127 Under Two Flags, 2 Parts, each.... 20 

387 Princess Napraxine 25 

675 A Rainy June 10 

763 Moths 20 

790 Othmar 20 

805 A House Party 10 

852 Friendship 20 

853 In Maremma 20 

854 Signa 20 

856 Pascarel 20 

Friendship 20 

Puck, Part 1 20 

Puck, Part II 20 

Tricotrin, Part 1 20 

Tricotrin, Part II 20 

Chandos, Part 1 20 

Chandos, Part II. 20 

BY ALBERT K. OWEN 

666 Integral Co-operation 80 

BY JAMES PAYN 

187 Thicker than Water 20 

830 The Canon’s Ward 20 

659 Luck of the Darrells 20 

1185 A Prince of the Blood 20 

Kit ; A Memory 20 

One of the Family 20 

The Heir of the Ages 20 


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42 Robin 20 

BY MARK PATTISON 

392 Life of Milton .... 10 

BY HENRY PETERSON 

1015 Pemberton 80 

BY ALFRED R. PHILLIPS 

Faust; a Wierd Story 10 

BY F. C. PHILLIPS 

1082 Strange Adventures of Lucy Smith .20 

108^1 As in a Looking Glass 2U 

1084 The Dean and his Daughter 20 

1097 Jack and Three Jills 20 

A Lucky Young Woman 20 

Social Vicissitudes 20 

BY W. PHILLIP 

The Wentworth Mystery 20 

BY C. L. PIRKIS 

A Dateless Bargain 20 

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE 

403 Poems 20 

426 Narrative of A. Gordon Pym 15 

432 Gold Bug, and Other Tales 16 

438 The Assignation, and Other Tales. .15 
447 The Murders in the Rue Morgue 15 

BY WILLIAM POLE, F.R.S. 

406 The Theory of the Modern Scien- 
tific Game of Whist 15 

BY ALEXANDER POPE 

391 Homer’s Odyssey 20 

396 Homer’s Iliad 30 

457 Poems 30 

BY JANE PORTER 

189 Scottish Chiefs, Part 1 20 

Scottish Chiefs, Part II 20 

382 Thaddeus of Warsaw 25 

BY C. F. POST AND FRED. C. ' 
LEUBUCHER 

838 The George-Hewitt Campaign. 20 

BY ADELAIDE A. PROCTERS 

339 Poems 20 

BY AGNES RAY 

1010 Mrs. Gregory 20 

BY CHARLES READE 

28 Singleheart and Doubleface 10 

415 A Perilous Secret 20 

759 Foul Play 20 

773 Put Yourself in his Place 20 

913 Griffith Gaunt 20 

914 A Terrible Temptation 20 

915 Very Hard Cash 20 

916 It is Never Too Late to Mend 20 

917 The Knightsbridge Mystery 10 

918 A Woman Hater 20 

919 Readiana 10 

BY REBECCA FERGUS REDD 

16 Freckles 20 

408 The Brierfield Tragedy 20 

BY HON. JOHN H. RICE 

1177 Mexico, our Neighbor 25 


16 


LOVELL^S LIBRARY. 


BY MRS. J. H. RIDDELL 

1134 The Nun's Curse 20 

Susan Drummond 20 

BY “ RITA ” 

656 Dame Durden 20 

6h9 Like Dian's Kiss 20 

1144 Two Bad Blue Eyes 20 

1110 After Long Grief and Pain 20 

1161 My Lady Coquette 20 

1153 Vivienne 20 

1155 Countess Daphne 20 

1158 Faustine. . . . -.20 

1161 Fragoletta 20 

1173 My Lord Conceit 20 

1179 A Sinless Secret 10 

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101 Harx'y Holbrooke 20 

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Keep My Secret 20 

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184 Arden 15 

F. W. ROBINSON’S WORKS 

The Man She Care 1 For 20 

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A Fair Maid 20 

99 Dark Street, and Miss Gascoigne, by 

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nil “ II 20 

1114 “ III 20 

1117 “ IV 20 

1122 “ V 20 

1125 " VI 20 

1128 “ VII 20 

1131 " VIII 20 

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329 Poems 20 

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159 Charlotte Temple 10 

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123 A Sea Queen 20 

399 John Holds worth .20 

833 A Voyage to the Cape 20 

834 J aok’ s Co u rtsi i i p 20 

835 A Sailor’s Sweetheart 20 

836 On the ro'k’.sle Head 20 

997 The Golden Hope 20 

1087 The Frozen Pirate 20 

BY DORA RUSSELL 

816 The Broken Seal • 20 

BY B. DE ST. PIERRE 

37 Paul and Virginia 10 


411 Children of the Abbey 30 

BY JOHN RUSKIN 

497 Sesame and Lilies 10 

605 Crown of Wild Olives 10 

610 Ethics of the Dust 10 

616 Queen of the Air 10 

621 Seven Lamps of Architecture 20 

637 Lectures on Architecture and Paint- 
ing ... 15 

642 Stones of Venice, 3 Vols., each 25 

565 Modern Painters, Vol. 1 20 

672 “ *• Vol. II 20 

677 “ “ Vol. Ill 20 

589 “ “ Vol. IV 25 

608 “ “ Vol. V 25 

593 King of the Golden River 10 

623 Unto this r.ast 10 

627 Munern Pulverls 15 

637 “ A J oy Fore ver ” 15 

639 The Picasnres of England 10 

6 12 The Two Paths, 20 

6-44 Lectures on Art 15 

647 Arntra Pentelici 15 

650 Time and Tide 15 

665 Mornings in Florence 15 

868 St. Mark’s Rest 15 

670 Deiicidion 15 

673 Art of England 15 

676 Kagl ’s Nest 15 

679 “ Our Fathers Have Told Us” 15 

682 Pro-serpina 15 

685 Val d'Arno 15 

688 Love’s Meinie 16 

707 Fors Clavigera, Part 1 30 

708 “ “ Part II 30 

713 “ “ Part HI 80 

714 “ “ Part IV. 30 


BY G. A. SALA 

Dead Slen Tell no Tales, but Live 


Men tio 20 

BY GEORGE SAND 

1-35 The Tower of Percemont 20 

965 The Lilies of Florence 20 

BY J. X. B. SAINTINE 

710 Picciola 10 

BY MRS. W. A. SAVILLE 

27 Social Etiquette 15 

BY JOHN SAUNDERS 

Robbing Peter to Pay Paul 20 

BY DR. E. J. SCHELLHOUS 

1094 The New Republic 80 

BY J. C. F. VON SCHILLER 

341 Schiller’s Poems 20 

BY MICHAEL SCOTT 

171 Tom Cringle’s Log 20 

BY EUGENE SCRIBE 

22 Fleurette 20 

BY ADELINE SERGEANT 

Beyond Recall 10 

Jacobi’s Wife 20 

BY PRINCIPAL SHAIRP 

334 Life of Burns 10 

BY FLORA L SHAW 

A Sea Change 20 

BY MARY W. SHELLEY 

6 Frankenstein 10 


LOVELL S LIBEART 


17 


BY SIR WALTER SCOTT 


145 Ivanhoe, 2 PartK. eacti 15 

859 Lady of the Lake, with Notes 20 

4S9 Bride of Lammermoor 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

492 Casile Dangerous 15 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

495 The Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

499 Heart of Mid-Lotliiau 80 

602 Waverley 20 

604 Fortunes qf Nigel 20 

509 Peveril of the Peak 80 

515 The Pirate 20 

586 Poetical Works 40 

644 Redgauntlet 25 

651 Woodstock 20 

657 Count Robert of Paris 20 

669 The Abbot 20 

675 Quentin Durward 20 

5S1 The Talisman 20 

686 St. Ronan's Well 20 

695 Anne of Geierstcin 20 

605 Aunt Margaret's Mirror 10 

607 Chionicles <>f the Cauongate 15 

609 The Monastery 20 

620 Guy Mannering 20 

625 Kenilworth 25 

629 The A ntiquary 20 

6:42 Rob Roy 20 

635 The Betrothed 20 

6;48 Fair Maid of Perth 20 

641 Old Mortality 20 


I 


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649 Complete Poetical Works 30 


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191 The Nautz Family 20 

BY J. H. SHORTHOUSE 

832 SirPercival 10 

BY EDITH SIMCOX 

613 Men, Women, and Lovers 20 

BY GEORGE R. SIMS 

Mary Jane’s Memoirs 20 


BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS 


640 The Partisan SO 

648 Mellichampe 30 

653 The Yemassee SO 

657 Katherine Walton 30 

662 Southward Ho ! 30 

671 The Scout 30 

674 The Wigwam and Cabin .30 

677 Vasconselos 30 

680 Confession 30 

684 Woodcraft 30 

687 Richard Hurdis ... ,30 

600 Guy Rivers 30 

693 Border Beagles 30 

697 The Forayers 30 

702 Charlemont 30 

703 Eutavv 30 

705 Beauchampe SO i 


BY J. P. SIMPSON 

125 Haunted Hearts 10 


924 


BY A. P. SINNETT 

Karma 


20 i 


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780 Bad to Beat 10 

1108 Saddle and Sable 20 

1141 A False Start gO 

BY SAMUEL SMILES 

425 Self-Help 25 

BY A. SMITH 

694 A Summer in Skye 20 

BY GOLDWIN SMITH 

110 False Hopes 15 

424 Life of Cowper 10 

BY J. GREGORY SMITH 

65 Selma 15 

BY S. M. SMUCKER 

248 Life of Webster, 2 Parts, each 16 

BY E. SNOW 

The Cur.se of Uangcrfield 20 

BY T. W. SPEIGHT 

A Barren Title 10 

BY EMILY SPENDER 

Until the Day Break.s 20 

BY F. SPIELHAGEN 

449 Quifeiana 20 

CHARLOTTE M. STANLEY’S 
WORKS 

The Shadow of a Sin 20 

A Waif of the Sea 20 

The Huntsford Fortune 20 

The Secret of a Birth 20 

Jessie Deane 20 

A Golden Mask 20 

Accord and Discord 20 

A Death-Bed Marriage 20 

Hearts and Gold 20 

BY JANE STANLEY 

A Daughter of the Gods 20 


BY STARKWEATHER AND 


WILSON 

461 Socialism 10 

BY LESLIE STEPHEN 

396 Life of Pope 10 

401 Life of Johnson 10. 

BY STEPNIAK 

173 Underground Russia 20 


BY 

767 

768 

769 

770 
793 
819 
921 

1102 


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON? 

Kidnapped 20 

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 

Hyde 10 

Prince Otto 10 

The Dvnamiter 20 

New Arabian Nights 20 

Treasure Island 20 

The Merry Men . . .20 

The Misadventures of John Nich- 
olson.. 10 


BY EUGENE SUE 

772 Mysteries of Paris, 2 Parts, each .. .20 
776 The Wandering Jew, 2 Parts, each .20 


18 LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


BY HESBA STRETTON 

729 In Prison and Out 20 

BY JULIAN STURGIS 

1062 Dick’s Wandering 20 

John Mardenent 20 

BY DEAN SWIFT 

68 Gulliver’s Travels 20 

BY CHAS. ALGERNON SWIN- 
BURNE 

412 Poems 20 

BY J. A. SYMONDS 

361 Life of Shelley 10 

BY H. A. TAINE 

442 Taine’s English Literature 40 

BY REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE 

Great Britain through American 
Spectacles 20 

BY NIKOLAI V. TCHERNUISH- 
COSKY 

1071 A Vital Question 30 

BY GEORGE TEMPLE 

Britta 10 

BY LORD TENNYSON 

446 Poems 40 

BY W. M. THACKERAY 

141 Henry Esmond 20 

143 Denis Duval 20 

148 Catherine 10 

166 Lovel, the Widower 10 

164 Barry Lyndon 20 

172 Vanity Fair 30 

103 History of Pendennis, 2 Parts, each. .20 

211 The Nevvcoraes, 2 Parts, each 20 

220 Book of Snobs 10 

220 J’aris Sketches 20 

23.6 Adventures of Philip, 2 Parts, each . . 15 

238 The Virginians, 2 Parts, each 20 

262 Critical Reviews, etc 10 

26(i Eastern Sketches 10 

262 Fatal Boots, etc 10 

264 The Four Georges. . .' 10 

280 Fitzboodle Papers, etc 10 

283 Roundabout Papers 20 

286 A Legend of the Rhine, etc lO 

286 Cox’s Diary, etc 10 

202 Irish Sketches, etc 20 

206 Men’s Wives 10 

300 Novels by Eminent Hands 10 

303 Character Sketches, etc 10 

304 Christmas Books 20 

306 Ballads 15 

307 Yellowplush Papers 10 

300 Sketches and Travels in London 10 

313 English Humorists 15 

316 Great Hoggarty Diamond 10 

320 The Rose and the Ring 10 

BY ANNIE THOMAS 

Called to Account 20 

BY BERTHA THOMAS 

Elizabeth’s Fortune 20 


BY JUDGE D. P. THOMPSON 


21 The Green Mountain Boys 20 

BY THEODORE TILTON 

94 Tempest To.ssed, Part 1 20 

94 Tempest Tossed, Part II 20 

BY COUNT LYOF TOLSTOI 

1110 My Husband and 1 10 

1113 Polikouchka 10 

1124 Two Generations ^ 10 

BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE 

133 Mr. Scarborough’s Family, 2 Parts, 

each 16 

251 Autobiography of Anthony Trollope.20 

344 Life of Thackeray 10 

367 An Old Man’s Love 16 

BY F. A. TUPPER 

895 Moonshine 20 

WM. MASON TURNER’S WORKS 

Maggie ; or, The Loom Girl of Lo- 
well 20 

Gertrude, the Governess 20 

BY SARAH TYTLER 

Buried Diamonds 20 

BY GENEVIEVE ULMAR 

Cruel as tne Grave 20 

BY DENZIL VANE 

Like Lucifer 20 

BY COUNT PAUL VASILI 

Borliu Society 10 

BY J. VAN LENNEP 

468 The Count of Talavera 20 

BY JULES VERNE 

34 800 Leagues on the Amazon 10 

35 The Cryptogram 10 

164 Tour of the. World in Eighty Days. .20 
166 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea . . . .20 
185 The Mysterious Island, 3 Parts, each. 15 

BY QUEEN VICTORIA 

355 More Leaves from a Life in the High- 
lands 16 

BY VIRGIL 

640 Poems 25 

BY L. B. WALFORD 

1055 Mr. Smith 20 

10.56 The History of a Week 10 

1057 The Baby’s Grandmother 20 

1058 Troublesome Daughter 20 

1059 Cousins 20 

BY GEORGE WALKER 

13 , The Three Spaniards .20 

BY A. H. WALL 

Dregs and Froth 20 

BY SAMUEL WARREN 

935 Ten Thousand a Year, Part f 20 

“ “ “ Part II 20 

“ “ “ Part III ....20 


lotell’s library 


BY PROF. A. W. WARD 

413 Life of Chaucer 10 

BY F. WARDEN 

7ft7 Doris’ Fortune 10 

080 At tlie World’s Mercy 10 

981 The House on the Marsh 20 

982 Deldee 20 

983 A Prince of Darkness 20 

1073 Scheherazade 20 

A Vagrant Wife 20 

BY DESHLER WELCH 

427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

BY E. WERNER 

614 At a High Price 20 

784 Vineta 20 

BY WILLIAM WESTALL 

1157 A Queer Race 20 


BY KATHARINE WYLDE 


An lil-Regulated Mind. 10 

BY EDMUND YATES 

723 Running the Gauntlet 20 

724 Broken to Harness M 

A Man of the World 20 

BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE 

858 A Modern Telemachus 20 

899 Love and Life 20 

Chantry House 20 

The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest 20 

The Two Sides of the Shield 20 

My Young Alcides 20 

BY ERNEST A. YOUNG 

600 Barbara’s Rival 20 

091 A Woman’s Honor 20 


BY MRS. WHITCHER 


194 Widow Bedott Papers 20 

BY J. G. WHITTIER 

460 Poems 20 

BY VIOLET WHYTE 

963 Her Johnnie 20 

BY W. M. WILLIAMS 

80 Science in Short Chapters 20 

BY N. P. WILLIS 

362 Poems 20 

BY C. F. WINGATE i 

830 Twilight Club Tracts 20 j 

BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER j 

1103 Bootle’s Baby 10 

1164 Army Society 10 I 

1105 Beautiful Jim 20 i 

110)8 Cavalry Life 20 j 

1109 In Quarters with the 25th Dragoons.lO 
1170 Regimental Legends 20 


HAZEL WOOD’S WORKS 


An < -nly Daughter 

On the Quicksands .... 

A Terrible Tangle 

Her Son’s Wife 

Two Wives 

The Tramp’s Daughter 
Were They Married ? . . 

Poor Nell 

Little Bessie 


20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 


BY MRS. HENRY WOOD 


54 East Lynne 20 ; 

902 The Mystery 20 I 

1093 Lady Grace 20 ■ 

1160 A Life’s Secret 20 ■ 


MISCELLANEOUS 


26 Life of Washington 20 

47 Baron Munchausen 10 

63 The Vendetta, by Balzac 20 

66 Margaret and her Bridesmaids 20 

72 Queen of the County ..20 

98 The Gypsy Queen 20 

118 A New Lease of Life 20 

169 Beyond the Sunrise 20 

181 Whist, or Bumblepuppy ? 10 

360 Modern Christianity a Civilized 

Heathenism 15 

265 Plutarch’s Lives. 5 Parts, each 20 

291 Famous Funny Fellows..... 20 

323 Life of Paul Jones 20 

332 Every-Day Cook-Book 20 

340 Clayton’s Rangers 20 

385 Swiss I’amily Robinson 20 

386 Childhood of the World 10 

397 Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. . . .25 
402 How He Reached the White House. 25 

Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

4a3 The Child Hunters 15 

857 A Wilful Young Woman 20 

966 The Story of Our Mess 20 

967 The Three Bummers 20 

1019 Soenr Louise 20 

Little Golden 20 

The Eyrie, and the Mystery of a 

Young Girl 20 

Circumstantial Evidence 10 

Majorie’s Child 26 

The Beautiful Rivals 10 

Fouiteen Years with Adelina Patti. .10 
Love and Mirage, or Waiting on an 

Island 10 

Life and Memoirs of U. S. Grant. . . 10 

Curly, and My Poor Wife 10 

Griselda 20 

Witness My Hand 10 


19 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


LATEST ISSUES. 


1096 The Co-operative Commonwealth, 

by Laurence C rouluud 30 

1097 Jack and Toi’ee Jills, by Philips... .2o 

1093 Inaian Scout, by Aimard 10 

1099 True Solution of the Labor Ques- 

tion, by Chas. H. W. Cook 10 

1100 A Tale of Tnree Lions, by Haggard. 10 

1101 Stronghand, by Aimard 10 

1102 The Misadventures of John Nich- 

olson, by R. L. Stevenson 10 

1103 Saddle and Sabre, by Smart 20 

1104 Bee Hunters, by Gustave Aimard 10 

1105 Mona’s Choice, by Mrs. Alexander. 20 
1103 Jessie, by author Addie'sHusband.20 
1107 Stoneheart, by Gustave Aimard . . 10 
1103 Rollin’s Ancient History, Voi. I... 20 

1109 Katharine Regina, by W. Besant .20 

1110 My Husband and I, by Count Lyof 

Tolstoi 10 

1111 Kolllu’s Ancient History, Vol, n. .20 

1112 Queen of the Savannah, by Gus- 

tave Aimard 10 

1113 Polikouchka, by Count Lyof Tol- 

stoi 10 

1114 Rollin’s Ancient History, Vol. HI.. 20 

1115 The Buccaneer Chief, by Gustave 

Aimard 10 

1116 One Traveller Returns, by David 

Christie Mui ray 20 

1117 Rollin’s Ancient History, Vol. IV. .20 

1118 The Smuggler Hero, by G.Aimard.lO 

1119 The Little Old Man of the Batig- 

nolles, by E. Gaboriau 20 

1120 The Matapan Affair, by F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

1121 The Rebel Chief, by G. Aimard. . .10 

1122 Rollin's Ancient History, Vol. V. . . 20 

1123 The Count’s Millions, Part I., by 

E. Gaboiiau 20 

The Count’s Millions, Part H., by 
E. Gaboriau 20 

1124 Two Generations, by Count Lyof 

Tolstoi 10 

112.5 Rollin’s Ancient History, Vol. VI. .20 

1126 A House of Tears, by E. Downey,.20 

1127 The Gold Seekers, by G. Aimard. .10 

1128 Rollin’s Ancient History,Vol.VII. 20 

1129 Story of Antony Grace, by Penn... 20 

1130 Lieutenant Barnabas, by Barrett 20 

1131 Rollin’s Ancient History, Vol. VIII. 20 

1132 One Maid’s Mischief, by Fenn 20 

113" Indian Chief, by G. Aimard lO 

1134 The Nun’s Curse, by Mrs, Riddell..20 


1135 A Prince of the Blood, by Payn. . 20 

1136 Marvel, by “The Duchess” 20 

1137 The Twin Soul, by Chas. Mackay.20 

1138 Red Track, by Gustave Aimard.. .10 

1139 A Modern Magician, by Malloy. .20 

1140 Only the Governess, by Carey — 20 


1141 A False Start, by Hawley Smart.. 20 

1142 A Life Interest, by Alexander 20 

1143 The Deemster, by Hall Caine 20 

1144 Two Bad Blue Eyes, by “Rita ”...20 

1145 TheTreasure of Pearls, by Aimard.lO 

1146 The Detective’s Eye, by Du 

Boisgobey 10 

1147 The Abbey Murder, by Hatton 20 

1148 The Red Lottery Ticket, by Du 

Boisgobey 10 

1149 After Long Grief and Pain, by 

“Rita” ..20 

1150 Red River Half Breed, by Aimard 10 

1151 My Lady Coquette, by “Rita” 20 

1152 The Slaves of Parts, Part I., by 

Gaboriau 20 

The Slaves of Paris, Fart II., by 
Gaboriau 20 

1153 Vivien, by “Rita” 20 

1154 The Pleasures of Life, by Sir John 

Lubbock .' 20 

1155 Countess Daphne, by “Rita”... .20 

1166 The Severed Hand, by Du Bois- 
gobey 20 

1157 A Queer Race,by William Wcstall.20 

1158 Faustine, by “ Rita” 20 

1159 In Luck at Last. Walter Eesant. 20 

1160 A Life’s Secret, Mrs. Henry Wood.20 

1161 Fragoletta, by “ Rita ” 20 

1162 Only a Coral Girl, Gertrude Fcrde. 20 

1163 Bootle’s Baby, by J. S. Winter... 10 

1164 Army Society, by J. S. Winter 10 

1165 Beautiful Jim, by J. S. Winter 20 

1166 An Irish Knight of the 19th Cen- 

tury, by Varina Anne Davis , . 26 

1167 Emerson’s Essays, 2d Series, by 

R. W Emerson 20 

1168 Cavalry Life, by J. S. Winter .... 20 

1169 In Q.uarters with the 25th Era- 

goons, by John Strange Winter. . 10 

1170 Regimental Legends, J. S, Win ter. 20 

1171 A Fight for a Fortune, by F. Du 


Boisgobey .20 

1172 Bertha's Secret, P. Du Boisgobey.20 

1173 My Lord Conceit, by “Rita” 20 

1174 The Results of a Duel, by F. Du 

Boisgobey — 20 


Any number of Lovell’s Library contained in tliis Catalogue can 
be obtained from 



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A LIFE’S SECRET 


BY MRS. HENRY WOOD. 


CHAPTER I. 

A LITTL'E way removed from the bustle of Ketterford, 
a town of note, situated in the heart of England, stands 
a white house, with a green lawn, surrounded by flowers 
and shrubs, intervening between it and the high-road. 
A private residence, and a handsome one; and yet, one 
of its lower rooms was fitted up as a counting-house, with 
desks and stools, and matting on the floor; and maps and 
drawings, plain and colored, upon its walls. Not finished 
and beautiful landsc^es, such as issue from the hands 
of modern artists, or have descended to us from the 
great masters; but skeleton designs of buildings; of 
churches, bridges, terraces; plans to be worked out in 
actuality, not to be admired upon paper. 

On a certain Easter Monday, several years ago, there 
sat at one of the desks a tall, gentlemanly young fellow, 
active and upright. He had large, deep-set gray eyes, 
earnest and truthful, a pale, clear, healthy complexion, 
and dark hair. So intent was he upon a book, over which 
he was bending, that he failed to hear his own name 
called out from the corridor, and the call was repeated. 

'^Austin Clay!'-' 

That roused him. 

An old lady in a lavender print dress, with a bunch of 
keys attached to its girdle, opened the door, and looked 
in. She wore spectacles, and an old-fashioned cap, white 
as snow. It was Mrs. Thornimett, the mistress of the 
house. 

“ So you are here! Sarah said she was sure Mr. Austin 
had not gone out," she exclaimed, trotting up to the 
desk and looking over Austin Olay's shoulder, to peer at 


4 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


his book. ** And now, what do you mean by it? — confin- 
ing yourself in-doors this lovely day, over that good-for- 
nothing Hebrew stuff ?‘^ 

A remarkably sweet smile rose to Austin^s amused face; 
in fact, his countenance was one always pleasant to look 
upon. 

It is not Hebrew, Mrs. Thornimett. Hebrew and I 
are strangers. 1 am only indulging myself with a bit of 
old Homer.” 

All useless, Austin. I don^t care whether it is Greek 
or Hebrew, or Latin or French. To pore over those rub- 
bishing dry books whenever you get the cliance, does 
you no good. If you did not possess a constitution of 
iron, you would have been laid upon a sick-bed long 
ago. ” 

Austin laughed outright. He knew Mrs. Thorni- 
mett's prejudice against what she called ^‘learning.” 
Never having been troubled with much herself, she — 
like the story told of the Dutch professor by George 
Primrose — ‘‘saw no good in it.” She lifted her hand 
and closed the book. 

“ May I not spend my time as I like, upon a holiday?” 
remonstrated Austin, half vexed, half in good humor. 

“No,” said she, authoritatively: “not when the day 
is warm and bright, like this. We do not often get so 
fair an Easter. Don’t you see that I have put off my 
winter clothing?” 

“I saw that at breakfast.” 

“Oh, you did notice that, did you? Well, I never 
make the change till I think warm weather is really com- 
ing in. And so it ought to be: for Easter is late this 
year. Come, put that book up!” 

Austin obeyed, a comical look of grievance upon his 
face. 

“I declare you order me about just as you did when I 
came hero first, a lad of fourteen, you’ll never get an- 
other like me, Mrs. Thornimett. As if I had not enough 
out-door work every day in the week! And I don’t know 
whereon earth to goto! It’s like turning a fellow out 
of house and home.” 

“ You are going out for me, Austin. The master left 
a message for the Lowland farm, and you shall take it 
over, and stop the day with them. They will make as 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


5 


innch of yon as they would of a king. 'When Mrs. Mil- 
ton was here the other day she complair.ed that you 
never went over now; she said she supposed you were 
growing above them.” 

“What nonsense,” said Austin, laughing. “Well, 
ril go there for you, at once, without grumbling. I like 
the Miltons.” 

“ You can walk, or you can take the pony gig. Which- 
ever you like.” 

“ I will walk. What is the message?” 

“The master Austin,” Mrs. Thornimett suddenly 

broke off, “ donT you think the master has seemed very 
poorly of late?” 

“N — 0 ,” replied Austin, speaking slowly, as if con- 
sidering whether he did or not. “1 have not noticed it 
particularly.” 

“ That is just like the young! They never see any- 
thing. Well, I have, Austin; and I can tell you that I 
do not like his looks. Especially I did not like them when 
he rode forth this morning.” 

“ All that I have observed is, that of late he seems to 
be disinclined for business. He is heavy; sleepy; as 
though it were a trouble to him to rouse himself; and he 
complains sometimes of headaclie. But, of course ” 

“ Of course, what?” asked Mrs. Thornimett. “Why 
do you hesitate?” 

“ I was going to say, that of course Mr. Thornimett is 
not as young as he was,” continued Austin. 

“ He is sixty-six; and I am sixty- three. But you must 
be going. Talking of it will not mend it. And the best 
part of the day is passing.” 

“You have not given me the message.” 

“The message is this,” said Mrs. Thornimett, lower- 
ing her voice to a confidential tone. “ Tell Mr. Milton 
that Mr. Thornimett would not answer for that timber 
merchant about whom he asked us. The master fears he 
is a slippery customer; one whom he would trust as far 
as he could sec, but no further. Just say it into 
]\[r. Milton’s private ear, you know. And Austin,” 
added the old lady, following him to the door, as he 
went out, “ do not make yourself ill with their Easter 
cheese-cakes.” 


6 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


^‘1 will try not/^ said Austin, laughing, and nodding 
back to Mrs. Thornimett as he crossed the lawn. 

He took the road to his right hand, passed a large yard, 
some workshops, and sheds. They belonged to Mr. 
Thornimett; and the timber and other characteristic ma- 
terials lying about, would have proclaimed their owner^s 
trade without the aid of the lofty sign-board — ‘^‘Richard 
Thornimett, Builder and Contractor. His business was 
extensive for a country town. 

Austin Clay was of good parentage, but at the age of 
fourteen had been left an orphan, with scarcely any 
means. He was taken from school by Mr. Thornimett, 
and apprenticed to himself. ^^Out of charity,^^ some 
people said. Yes, in so much as that no premium was 
received with him. His mother, Mrs. Clay, and Mrs. 
Thornimett had been distantly related. Mr. and Mrs. 
Thornimett had no children, and they took him; not to 
adopt him, as the phrase goes; not to leave him a fort- 
une; simply to put him in the way to get his own living. 
They grew fond of him; he was an open-hearted, gener- 
ous boy, and won upon their esteem. Certain indul- 
gences, as to the going on with his school studies, were 
accorded him; not to interfere with his business hours, 
but at odds and ends of time. Drawing, mathematics, 
and languages were his favorite pursuits; but with the 
languages Mrs. Thornimett waged perpetual war. Where 
would be the good of them to him? she continually 
asked; and Austin, in his pleasant, laughing manner, 
would answer that they might help to make him into a 
gentleman. But Austin Clay, though perhaps he might 
know it not, was, in mind and manners, a gentleman 
born. He was one-and-tvyenty years of age now, and the 
busybodies of Ketterford decided that Mr. Thornimett 
would be some time making him his partner. 

Past the workshops, Aust;n struck into the fields; so 
much more agreeable, on that fine day, than the dusty 
road. They bought him, when nearing the end of his 
Journey, to a large common. A sort of waste common, 
usable by anybody; where gypsies encamped, and don- 
keys grazed, and children and geese were turned out. A 
broad path ran through it, for carts or other vehicles. 
To the left it was bordered in the distance by a row of 
cottages; to the right its extent was limited, and ter- 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


7 


minated in some dangerous gravel pits; dangerous be- 
cause they were not protected. Austin had reached 
nearly the middle of the common when he overtook Miss 
Gwiiin, a very strange lady, popularly supposed to be 

mad,^^ and of whom he had once stood in "considerable 
awe; at which he laughed now. She was a tall, bony 
woman, of remarkable strength, long past middle age, 
and it was well known that she had some source of secret 
and intense sorrow. 

You have taken a long walk this morning, Miss 
Gwinn,^^ said Austin, courteously raising his hat as he 
came up with her. 

She threw back her gray cloak with a quick, sharp 
movement, and turned upon him. 

Oh, it is you, Austin Clay? You startled me; my 
thoughts were far away: deep upon another. He could 
wear a fair outside, and accost one in a pleasant voice, 
like you.’^ 

^‘That is rather a doubtful compliment. Miss Gwinn,^^ 
he returned, in his good-humored way. I hope I am 
no darker inside than out. At any rate, I don^t try to 
appear different from what I am.'’^ 

Did I accuse you of it? Boy, you had better go and 
throw yourself into one of those gravel pits, and die, 
than grow up to be deceitful,^'’ she vehemently cried. 

Deceit has been the curse of my days. It has made me 
what I am; one whom the boys hoot after, and 
call 

^^No, no, not so bad as that,^^ interrupted Austin. 

You have been cross with them sometimes, and they 
are insolent, mischievous little ragamuffins. I am 
sure every thoughtful person respects you, feeling for your 
sorrow.” 

Sorrow!” she wailed. ^^x\y. Sorrow beyond what 
falls to the ordinary lot of man. The blow fell w\)onme, 
though I was not an actor in it. AVhen those about us do 
wrong, we suffer. We more than they. I may be re- 
venged yet,” she added, her expression changing to 
anger, ‘‘if I can only come across Am.” 

“Across whom?” asked Austin. 

“Who are you that you should ask me?” she passion- 
ately resumed. “ I am five-and -fifty to-day— old enough 


8 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


to be yonr mother, and yon i^i’esnme to put the question 
to me. Boys are comino: to something.’^ 

“I beg your pardon; I but spoke, periiaps heedlessly, 
in answer to your remark. Indeed, I have no wisli to 
pry into anybody's business. And as to ‘secrets,^ I have 
eschewed them since, a little chap in petticoats, I crept 
to my mother’s room door to listen to one, and got 
soundly whipped for my pains. 

It is a secret that you will never know, or anybody 
else; so put its thoughts from you. Austin Olay,^^ she 
added, laying her hand upon his arm, and bending for- 
ward to speak in a whisj^er, ‘^it is fifteen years this very 
day since its horrors came out to me! And I have had 
to carry it about since, as best I could, in silence and in 
pain."” 

She turned round abruptly as she spoke, and contin- 
ued her way along tho broad path, while Austin Clay 
struck short off toward the gravel pits, which was his 
nearest road to the Lowland farm. Silent and aban- 
doned were the pits that day, for everybody was keeping 
holiday. 

What a stranofe woman she is!” he thought. 

It has been said that the gravel pits were not far from 
the path. Austin was close upon them, when the sound 
of a horse’s footsteps caused him to turn. A stranger 
was riding fast down the common path, from the opi^o- 
site side to the one he and Miss Gwinn had come. A 
slender man of some soven-and-thirtv vears, tjill, so fjir 
as could be judged, with thin, prominent, aquiline feat- 
ures, and dark eyes. A fine face; one of those that im- 
press the beholder at first sight, and, once seen, I’emain 
permanently on the memory. 

I wonder who he is?” thought Austin, fixing his 
e3^es on the stranger. He rides well.” 

Miss Gwinn had also fixed her eyes on the stranger; 
eyes that seemed to be starting from her head with the 
gaze. It would appear that she recognized him, and 
with no pleasurable emotion. She grew strangely ex- 
cited. Her face turned of a ghastly whiteness, her hands 
closed involuntarily, and, after standing for a moment in 
perfect stillness, as if petrified to stone, she dnrted for- 
ward in his pathway, and seized the bridle of his horse. 

So! you have turned up at last! I knew — I knew 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


9 


you were not dead!” she shrieked in a voice of wild rav- 
ing. I knew you would sometime be brought face to 
face with me, to answer for your wickedness!” 

Utterly surprised and perplexed, or seeming to be, at 
this summary attack, the gentleman could only stare at 
his assailant, and endeavor to get his bridle from her 
hand. But she held it with a firm grasp. 

“Let go my horse,” he said. “Are you mad?” 

“ Yoti were mad,” she retorted, passionately. “Mad 
in those old days; and you turned another to madness. 
Not three minutes ago I said to myself that the time 
would come when I should find you. Man! do you re- 
member that it is this day fifteen years that the — the — 
crisis of the sickness came on? Do you know that 
never ” 

“Do not betray your private affairs to me,” he inter- 
rupted. “ They are no concern of mine. I never saw 
you in my life. Take care! the horse will do you an in- 
B^-y.” 

“No! you never saw me, and you never saw somebody 
else!” she panted, in atone that would have been mock- 
ingly sarcastic, but for its wild passion. “You did not 
change the current of my whole life! you did not turn 
another to madness! These equivocations are worthy of 
you,’^ 

“ If you are not insane, you must be mistaking me for 
some other person,” he replied, his tone none of the 
mildest. “I repeat that, to my knowledge, I never set 
eyes upon you in my life. Woman! have you no regard 
for your own safety? The horse will kill you! DoiiT 
you see that I cannot control him?” 

“ So much the better if he kills us both!” she shrieked, 
swaying up and down, to and fro, with the fierce motions 
cf the angry horse. “ You will only meet your deserts; 
and, for myself, I am tired of life.” 

“ Let go!” cried the rider. 

“ Not until you have told me where you live, and where 
you may be found. I have searched for you in vain. I 
wdll have my revenge; I will force you to do justice. 
You ” 

In her sad temper, her dogged obstinacy, she still held 
the bridle. The horse, a spirited animal, was as passion- 
ate as she was, and far stronger. He reared bolt up- 


10 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


right, ho kicked, he plunged; and finally shook off tlie 
obnoxious control, to dash furiously in the direction of 
the gravel pits. The lady fell to the ground. 

It would be certain destruction to both man and horse. 
Austin Clay had w^atched the encounter in amazement, 
though he could not distinguish the "words of the quar- 
rel. In the humane impulse of the moment, disregard- 
ing the danger to himself, he darted in front of the horse, 
arrested him on the very brink of the pit, and threw him 
back on his haunches. 

Snorting, panting, the white foam breaking from him, 
the animal, as if conscious of the doom he had escaped, 
now stood ill trembling quiet, obedient to the control of 
his master. That master threw himself from his back, 
and turned to Austin. 

Young gentleman, you have saved my life!^^ 

There was little doubt of that, and, in the satisfaction 
of the moment, Austin felt not the wrench he had given 
to his own shoulder. 

‘^It would have been an awkward fall, sir. I am glad 
I happened to be here.’^ 

‘^It would have been a killing fall,” replied the 
stranger, stepping to the brink and looking down. ‘‘ And 
your being here must be owing to God^s wonderful provi- 
dence.” 

He lifted his hat as he spoke, and remained a min- 
ute or two silent and uncovered, his eyes closed. Austin, 
the same impulse of reverence extending to his spirit, 
lifted his. 

^^Did you see the strange manner in which that 
woman attacked me? She must be deranged.” 

She is very strange at times,” said Austin, and flies 
into desperate passions.” 

Passions! it is madness, not passion. A woman like 
that ought to be shut up in Bedlam. Where would be 
the satisfaction to my wife and family if, through her, I 
had been lying at this moment at the bottom there, dead? 
I never saw her in my life before, never.” 

^Hs she hurt? she has fallen down there.” 

^^Hurt! Not she. She could call after me pretty 
fiercely when my horse shook her off. She possesses the 
rage and strength of a tiger. Good fellow! good Salem! 
did a mad-woman frighten and anger you?” added the 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


11 


stranger, smoothing his horse. And now, young sir,*’ 
turning to Austin, “ how shall I reward you?^^ 

Austin broke into a smile. 

“ Not at all, thank yon,"’ he said. One does not 
merit reward for such a thing as this. I should have 
deserved sending over after you had I not interposed. 
To do my best was a simple matter of duty, of obligation; 
but not'iing to be rewarded for.” 

“ Well, 1 may be able to repay it in some manner as 
you and I pass through life,” said the strangely mounting 
the now subdued horse. “Some neglect the opportuni- 
ties thrown in their way of helping their fellow creatures; 
some embrace them, as you have just done; I believe 
that whichever we may give, neglect or help, will be 
returned to us in kind. Like a corn of wheat, which 
must spring up what it is sown; or a thistle, which must 
come up a thistle. AVill you tell me your name? and 
something about yourself?” 

“My name is Austin Clay. I can boast of no rela- 
tives, save very distant ones. And I am being brought 
up for a builder.” 

“ Why, 1 am a bhilder myself,” cried the stranger. 
“Shall you ever be coming to London?” 

“I dare say I shall be, sir. I should like it.” 

“Then mind you pay me a visit the first thing,” said 
he, taking a card from a case in his pocket, and handing 
it to Austin. “ Come to me should you ever be in want 
of a berth; I might help you to one. Will you promise?” 

“ Yes, and thank you, sir.” 

“ I fancy the thanks are due from the other side, Mr. 
Clay. Oblige me by not letting that Bess o" Bedlam 
obtain sight of my card. I might have her following me. 
That town, beyond, is Ketterford, is it not?” 

“It is,” replied Austin. 

“ Fare you well, then, I must hasten to catch the 
twelve o’clock train.” 

lie rode away. Austin looked at the card. It was a 
private visiting-card, “Mr. Henry Hunter,” with an ad- 
dress in the corner. 

“ He must be one of the great London building firm 
Hunter & Hunter,” thought Austin. “First-class 
people. And now to see after Miss Gwinn.” 

She was rising up as he approached, rising slowly. 


12 A LIFERS SECRET, 

The fall had shaken her; though no material damage was 
done. 

I hope you are not hurt/’ said Austin, kindly. 

A ban light upon the horse/’ she fiercely cried. At 
my age it docs not do to be thrown on the ground vi- 
olently. I thought my bones were broken; I couldnot rise; 
and he has escaped. Boy, what did he say to you of me, 
of my affairs?” 

Not anything. I do not believe he knows you in the 
least. He says he does not.” 

The crimson of passion had faded from Miss Grwinn’s 
face, leaving it wan and white. 

How dare you say you believe it?” 

Because I do believe it,” replied Austin, in defiance 
of logic. He declared that he never saw you in his 
life, and I think he spoke the truth. I can judge when 
a man tells truth, and when ho tells a lie. Mr. Thorni- 
mett often says he wishes he could read faces as I can 
read them.” 

Miss Gwinn gazed at him, contempt and pity blended 
in her countenance. 

“ Have you yet to learn that a bad man can assume the 
semblance of goodness?” 

Yes, I know that; and assume it so as to take in a 
saint,” hastily spoke Austin. “ You may be deceived in 
a bad man, but I do not think yon can in a good one. 
Where a man possesses innate truth and honor, it shines 
out in his countenance, his voice, his manner; and there 
can be no mistake. When you are puzzled over a bad 
man, you say to yourself, ‘He may be telling the truth, 
he 7nay be genuine;’ but with a good man you know it to 
be so. That is, if you possess the gift of reading counte- 
nances; which is one of the best gifts God gives us. I 
am sure there was truth in that stranger.” 

“ Listen, Austin Clay. That man, truthful as you 
deem him, is the very incarnation of deceit. I know as 
much of him as one human being can well know of an- 
other. It wMs he who wrought the terrible wrong upon 
my house; it was he who broke up my happy home. I’ll 
find him now. Others said he must be dead, but I said: 
‘No, he lives yet.’ And you see he does. I’ll find 
him.” 

Without another word, she turned away, and went 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


V6 


striding back in the direction of Ketterford, the same 
road which the stranger’s horse had taken. Austin 
stood and looked after her, pondering over tlie strange 
events of the hour. Then he proceeded to the Lowland 
farm. 

A pleasant day among pleasant friends, spent he, rich 
Easter cheese-cakes being the least of the seductions he 
did not withstand; and it was half- past ten at iiight be- 
fore he found himself back at Mrs. Thornimett’s. Con- 
scious of the late hour — for they were early people — he 
was passing with a hasty step over the lawn, wiien Sarah, 
one of the two old maid-servants who had lived in the 
house for many years, and had scolded and ordered him 
about when a boy, to her heart’s delight and. for his own 
good, came running to meet him. She must have been 
at the door, watching for him. 

Where you stayed? To think that you should be 
away this night, of all others, Mr. Austin! Have you 
heard what has happened to the master?” 

^‘No. What?” exclaimed Austin, his fears taking 
alarm. 

He fell down in a fit, over at the village where he 
went; and they brought him home, a frightening us two 
and the missus a’most into fits ourselves. Oh, Master 
Austin!” she concluded, bursting into tears, ‘‘ the doc- 
tors don’t think he’ll be alive by morning. Poor, dear 
old master!” 

“May I go and see him, Sarah?” he whisperingly in- 
quired, after a pause of consternation. 

“Oh, you may go; the missis won’t care, and nothing 
rouses him. It’s a heavy blow; but it has its side of 
mercy; God never sends a blow but He sends mercy with 
it. He teas iit to he took; he had lived for the next 
world while he was living in this. And them as do. Mas- 
ter Austin, never need shrink from sudden death.” 


CHAPTER II. 

It was awful to reflect upon the change death makes, 
even in the petty every-day affairs of life. On the 
Easter Monday, spoken of in the last chapter, Richard 
Tliornimett, his men, his contracts, and his business in 
progress, were all part of the life, the work, the bustle 


14 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


of the town of Ketterforcl. In a few weeks from that 
time, Kichard Thornimett — who had not lived to see the 
morning light after his attack — was moldering in the 
churchyard; and the business, the workshops, the arti- 
sans, all save the dwelling-houses, which Mrs. Thorni- 
mett retained for herself, had passed into other hands. 
The name, Richard Thornimett, as one of the citizens of 
Ketterford, had ceased to be; all things were changed. 

Mrs. Thornimett^s friends and acquaintances had as- 
sembled to tender counsel, after the fashion of busy- 
bodies of the world. Some recommended her to con- 
tinue the business; some, to give it up; some, to take in a 
gentleman as partner; some, to pay a liandsomo salary to 
an efficient manager. Mrs. Thornimett listened politely 
to all, without the least intention of acting upon any- 
body's opinion but her own. Her mind had been made 
up for the first. Mr. Thornimett had died well off, and 
everything was left to her — Inilf of the money to be hers 
for life, and then go to different relations; the other half 
was bequeathed to her absolutely, and was at her own dis- 
posal. Rumors were rife in the town, that, Avhen things 
came to be realized, she would have not less than twelve 
thousand pounds. 

Austin,’^ she said to young Clay, as they sat up to- 
gether one evening, ‘‘I shall dispose of the business— 
everything as it stands, and the good-will.^' 

Shall youF'Mie replied. I would have done my 
best to carry it on for you, Mrs. Thornimett. The fore- 
man is a man of experience, one we may trust.^’ 

I do not doubt you, Austin, and I do not doubt him. 
You have got your head on your shoulders the riglit way, 
and you would be faithful and true. So well do I tliiiik 
of your abilities, that were you in a position to pay down 
only half the purchase money, I would give you the re- 
fusal of the business, and I am certain success would at- 
tend you. But you are not, so that is out of the ques- 
tion.^' 

“Quite out of the question," assented Austin. “If 
ever I get a business of my own, it must bo by working 
for it. Have you quite resolved upon giving it up?" 

“So far resolved that the negotiations are already half 
concluded," replied Mrs. Thornimett. “ What should I, 
lone woman, do with an extensive business? When poor 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


15 


widows are left badly off, they are obliged to work; but I 
possess more money than I shall know how to spend. 
Why should I worry out my hours and days, trying to 
amass more? It would not be seemly. Kolt & Kansom 
wish to purchase it.^' 

Austin lifted his head with a quick movement. He 
did not like Eolt & Eansom. 

The only difference we have ]n the matter is this: 
that I wish them to take you on, Austin, and they think 
they shall find no room for you. Were you a common 
workman, it would be another thing, they say.’’^ 

“ Do not allow that to be a difference any longer, Mrs. 
Tliornimett,^'’ he cried, somewhat eageily. I should 
not care to be under Eolt & Eansom. If they offered me 
a place to-morrow, and carte blanche as to pay, I do not 
think I could bi-ing myself to take 

“ Why?’^ asked Mrs. Thornimett, in surprise. 

Well, they are no favorites of mine. I know nothing 
against them, except that they are hard men — grinders; 
but somehow I have always felt a prejudice against that 
firm. We do have our likes and dislikes, you are well 
aware. Young Eolt is prominent in the business, too, 
and I am sure there^s no love lost between him and me; 
we should be at daggers drawn. No, I should not seiwe 
Eolt & Eansom. If they succeed to yonr business, I 
think I shall go to London, and try my fortune there. 

Mrs. Thornimett pushed back her widow’s cap, to 
which her head had never yet been able to get reconciled 
— something like Austin with regard to Eolt & Eansom. 

London would not be a good place for you, Austin. It 
is full of pitfalls for young men.” 

‘‘So are other places,” said Austin, laughingly, “if 
young men choose to step into them. I shall make rny 
way, Mrs. Thornimett, never fear. I am thorough 
master of my business in all its branches, higher and 
lower, as you know, and I am not afraid of putting my 
own shoulder to the wheel, if there’s necessity for it. As 
to pitfalls — if I do stumble in the dark into any. I’ll 
manage to scramble out again; but I will take good care 
not to get into them willfully. Had you continued the 
business, of course I would have remained with you; 
otherwise, I should like to go to London.” 

“You can be better trusted, both as to capabilities and 


16 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


steadiness, than some could at your age,” deliberated Mrs. 
Thornimett. But they are wrong notions tliat you 
young men pick up with regard to London. I believe 
there’s not one of you but thinks its streets are sprinkled 
with diamonds.” 

I don’t,” said Austin. '^And while God gives me 
liands and brains to work with, I would rather earn my 
diamonds, than stoop to pick them up in idleness.” 

Mrs. Thornimett paused. Then, settling her specta- 
cles firmer on her eyes, turned them full on Austin, and 
spoke abruptly: 

^‘Were you disappointed when you' heard the poor 
master’s will read?” 

Austin, in return, turned his eyes upon her, and 
opened them to their utmost width, in his surprise. 

‘^Disappointed! No! Why sliould I be?” 

Did it never occur to you to think, or to expect, that 
he might leave you something?” 

Never?’’ earnestly replied Austin. The thought 
never so much as crossed my mind. Mr. I'hornimett 
had near relatives of his own, and so have you. WTio am 
I, that I should think to step in before them?” 

“ I wish people would mind their own business,” ex- 
claimed the old lady, in a vexed tone. “ 1 was gravely 
assured, Austin, that ‘young Clay’ felt grievously ill- 
used by the will! I did not believe it.” 

‘MYhoever said it,” Austin observed, “it is utterly 
untrue, Mrs. Thornimett. I never expected Mr. fi'horni- 
mett to leave me anything, therefore I could not have 
been disappointed at the will.” 

“The poor master knew I should not forget you, 
Austin; that is, if you continue to be deserving. Some 
time or other, when my old bones are laid beside him, 
you may be the bettiu* for a trifie from me. Only a 
trifle, mind; we must be just before we are generous.” 

“ Indeed, you are very kind,” was Austin Clay’s reply; 
“but I should not wish you to enrich me at the expense 
of others, wlio have greater claims.” And he fully meant 
what he said. “I have not the least fear of making my 
own way up the world’s ladder. Do yon happen to know 
anything of the London firm. Hunter & Hunter?” 

“Only by reputation,” said Mrs. Thornimett. 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


17 


shall apply to them, if I 2^0 to London. They will 
interest tliemselves for me, perluips.^^ 

You’d be sure to do well if you could get in there. 
But why should they help you more than anv other firm 
would?” 

“'J'here’s nothing like trying,” replied Austin, too con- 
scious of the evasive character of his reply. Ho was can- 
dor itself; but he feared to speak of the circumstances 
under which he had met Mr. Henry Hunter, lest Miss 
Gwinn should find out it was to him he had gone, and so 
track x\lr. Henry Hunter home. Austin deemed that it 
was no business of his to help her find Mr. Hunter, 
whether he was or was not the hete noire ol whom she had 
spoken. 

d’hat she did not know him hy name, Austin found 
reason to believe. Just before he left. Ketterford, after 
Kolt & Ransom completed their pui-chase, and had 
entered into possession, incorporating their own business 
as builders with that of the late Mr. Thornimett, Austin 
and Mrs. Thornimett encountered Miss Gwinn iii the 
street. The conversation turned- upon Austin’s leaving 
for London, and Mrs. Thornimett incidentally men- 
tioned that he meant, first of all, to try Hunter & 
Hunter. 

Hunter & Hunter!” echoed Miss Gwinn. Who 
are they? Try them for what?” 

‘Minuter & Brothers, some call them,” said Mrs. 
Thornimett. “it is a large building firm.” 

“ Oh!” apathetically returned Miss Gwinn. The sub- 
ject, the name, evidently bore for her no interest what- 
ever. Therefore Austin judired that, whether or not she 
was acquainted with Mr. Henry Hunter’s person, she 
could not be acquainted with his name. 

4: H: % 

A heavy train, drawn by two engines, was dashing 
toward London, Whitsuntide had come, and the public 
took advantage of the holiday, and the trains were 
crammed. Austin Clay took advantage of il? also; it 
was a saving to his pocket, the fares liaving been low- 
ered; and he rather liked a cram. Wliat he did not 
like, though, was the being stuffed into a first-class car- 
riage, with iis warm mats and its cushions. The day 
was intensely hot, and he would have preferred one open 


18 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


on all sides. They were filled, however, before ho came. 
He had left Kctterford, and was on his road to London 
to seek liis fortune — as old stories used to say. 

Seated in the same compartment as himself was a lady 
with a little girl. The former appeared to be in very 
delicate health; she remarked more than once, that she 
would not have traveled on so crowded a day, had she 
given it proper thought. The little girl was chiefly re- 
markable for making herself troublesome to Austin; at 
least, her mamma perpetually reproached her with doing 
so. She was a lovely child, with delicately-carved feat- 
ures, slightly aquiline, but inexpressibly sweet and charm- 
ing. A bright color illumined her cheeks, her eyes were 
large, and dark, and soft, and her curls were flowing. 
He judged her to bo perhaps eleven years old; but she 
was one of those natural, unsophisticated children who 
appear much younger tlian they are. The race have 
pretty nearly gone out of the world now; I hope they 
will come into it again. 

Florence, how can you be so tiresome? Pushing 
yourself before the gentleman against that dangerous 
door, which might fly open. I am sure he must be tired 
of holding you."*^ 

F^loreiice turned her bright eyes — sensible, honest eyes, 
bright though they were — and her pretty hot cheeks upon 
the gentleman. 

‘‘'Are you tired, sir?^^ 

Austin s'miled. 

“ It would take rather more than this to tire me,’^ 
he said. “ Pray, allow her to look out,^Mie added, to the 
lady opposite to whom he sat; “ I will take every care of 
her.^^ 

“ Have you any little girls of your own?” questioned 
the young damsel. 

Austin laughed outright. 

“No.” 

“Nor any sisters?” 

“ Nor iTuy sisters. I have scarcely any relatives in the 
world. I am not so fortunate as you.” 

“I have a great many relatives, but no brothers or sis- 
ters. I had a sister once, and she died when she was 
three years old. Was it not three, mamma?” 

“And how old are you?” inquired Austin. 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


19 


Oh, pray do not ask/’ interposed the lady. She is 
so tliorouglily childish, I am ashamed anybody should 
know her age. And yet she does not want sense.” 

I was twelve last birthday,” cried the young lady, in 
defiance of all conventionalism. My cousin Mary is 
only eleven, but she is a great deal bigger than I.” 

“ Yes,” observed the lady, in a tone of positive resent- 
ment; Mary is quite a woman already in ideas and 
manners; you are a child, and a very backward one.” 

“ Let her be a child, ma’am, while she may,” impul- 
sively spoke Austin; “ childhood does not last too long, 
and it never comes again. Little girls are women nowa- 
days; I think it is perfectly delightful to meet with one 
like this.” 

As they neared the final terminus, the young lady was 
peremptorily ordered to keep her head in,” or perhaps 
she might lose it. 

‘"Oh, dear! if I must, I must. But I wanted to look 
out for papa; he is sure to be waiting for us with the 
carriage.” 

The train glided up to its destination; and the bright, 
quick eyes were roving amidst ‘the crowd standing on the 
platform. They rested upon a gentleman. 

“ There’s Uncle Henry! there’s Uncle Henry! But I 
don’t see papa. Where’s papa?” she called out as the 
gentleman saw them and approached. 

“ Papa’s not come; he has sent me instead. Miss Flor- 
ence.” And, to Austin Clay’s inexpressible surprise, he 
recognized Mr. Henry Hunter. 

“There’s nothing the matter? James is not ill?” ex- 
claimed the lady, bending forward. 

“ No, no; nothing of that. Being a leisure day with 
us, we thought we would quietly go over some estimates 
together. James had not finished the calculations, and 
did not care to be disturbed at them.” 

Mr. Henry Hunter was assisting her to alight as he 
spoke, having already lifted down Florence. A maid, 
with a couple of carpet-bags, appeared presently amidst 
the bustle, and Austin saw them approach a private car- 
riage. lie had not pushed himsidf forward. He did not 
intend to do so then, deeming it not the most fitting mo- 
ment to challenge the notice of Mr. Henry Hunter; but 
that gentleman’s eye happened to fall upon him. 


20 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


Not at first for recognition. Mr. Ilnntor felt sure it 
was a face he had seen recently, was one he ought to 
know, but his memory was puzzled. Florence followed 
his gaze. 

That gentleman came up in the same carriage with 
us. Uncle Henry. They put him first-class, because 
there was no room where he wanted to go. I like him so 
much.^^ 

Austin came forward as he saw the intent look; and 
recollection flashed over the mind of Henry Hunter. He 
took both the young man^s hands in his, and grasped 
them. 

You like him, do you. Miss Florence?’^ cried he, in 
a half joking, half fervent tone. ‘‘I can tell you what, 
young lady, but for this gentleman, you would no longer 
have possessed an Uncle Henry to plague; he would have 
been dead and forgotten.-’^ 

A word or two of explanation followed from Austin, 
touching what brought him to London, and his intention 
to ask advice of Mr. Henry Hunter. Tliat gentleman 
replied that he would give it willingly, and at once, for 
he had leisure on his hands that day, and he could not 
answer for it that he would have another. He gave 
Austin the address of his office. 

‘‘When shall I come, sir?"^ asked Austin. 

“Now, if you can. A cab will bring you. I shall not 
be there later in the day.’^ 

So Austin, leaving his portmanteau, all the luggage he 
had at present brought with him, in charge at the sta- 
tion, proceeded in a cab to the address named, Mr. Henry 
Hunter having driven off in the carriage. 

The offices, yards, buildings, sheds, and other places 
pertaining to the business of Hunter & Hunter, were sit- 
uated in what may be considered a desirable part of the 
metropolis. They encroached neither upon the excessive 
bustle of the city, nor upon the aristocratic exclusiveiK'SS 
of the gay west end, but occupied a position midway be- 
tween the two. Sufficiently open was the district in 
their immediate neighborhood, healthy, handsome, and 
near some fine squares; but a very, very little way re- 
moved, you come upon swarming courts and close dwell- 
ings, and squallor, and misery, and all tlie bad features 
of what we are pleased to call Arab life. There are 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


n 


many such districts in London, where wealth and ease 
contrast with starvation and improvidence, all hut within 
view of each other, the one gratifying the eye; the other 
causing it pain. 

The yard was of a great extent. Austin had thought 
Mr. Tliornimett’s a very fair one for size; but he could 
laugh at that, now that he saw the Messrs. Hunters\ It 
was inclosed by a wall, and by light iron gates. Within 
the gates on the left-hand side were the offices, where 
the in-door business was transacted. A wealthy, impor- 
tunt, and highly considered firm was that of the Messrs. 
Hunter. Their father had made tlie business wliat it 
Avas, and. had bequeathed it to them jointly at his death. 
James, wliose wife and only child you have seen arriving 
by the train, after a week’s visit to the country, was the 
elder brother, and was usually styled Mr. Hunter; the 
younger was known as Mr. Henry Hunter; and he had 
a large family. Each occupied a Iiandsome house in a 
contiguous square. 

Mr. Henry Hunter came up just as Austin did, and 
they entered the offices. In a private room, Inindsomely 
carpeted, stood two gentlemen. The one, had he not 
been so stout, Avould have borne a great likeness to Mr. 
Henry Hunter. In early life the likeness between the 
brothel’s had been remarkable; the same dark hair and 
eyes, the well-formed aquiline features, the same active, 
tall, light figure; but, of late years, James had grown fat, 
and the resemblance was in part lost. The other gentle- 
man was Dr. Bevary, a spare man of middle height, the 
brother of Mrs. James Hunter. Mr. Henry Hunter in- 
troduced Austin Clay, speaking of the service i-endered 
him, and broadly saying, as he had done to Florence, 
that but for him he should not have been alive. 

Here you go, Henry,” cried Dr. Bevary. That’s 
one of your exaggerations, that is. You were always 
given to the marvelous, you know. Not alive!*’ 

Mr. Henry Hunter turned to Austin. ‘‘Tell the 
truth, Mr. Clay. Should I, or not?” And Austin 
smiled, and said he believed not. 

“ I cannot understand it,” exclaimed Dr. Bevary, 
after some explanation had been given by Mr. Henry 
Hunter. 


33 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


is incredible to suppose a strange woman would at- 
tack you ill that manner, unless she was rnad/^ 

Mad or not mad, she did it,'’^ returned Mr. Henry 
Hunter. was riding Salem — you know I took him 
with me, in that week’s excursion I made at Easter — and. 
the woman set upon me like a tigress, clutching hold of 
Salem, who won’t stand such jokes. In his fury, ho got 
loose from her, dashing he neither knew nor cared 
wliither, and this fine fellow saved us on the very brink 
of the yawning pit — risking the chance of getting killed 
himself, for, h .d the horse not been arrested, I don’t 
see liow he could have helped being knocked over with 
us.” 

Mr. Hunter turned a warm, grateful look on Austin. 

“How was it you never spoke of this, Henry?” he in- 
quired of his brother. 

“ There’s another curious phase of the affair,” laughed 
Mr. Henry Hunter. “ 1 have had a dislike to speak of 
it, even to think of it. I cannot tell you why; certainly 
not on account of the escaped danger. And it was over; 
so, what signified talking of it.” 

“ Why did she attack you?” cried Dr. Bevary. 

“She evidently, if there was reason in her at all. mis- 
took me for somebody else. All sorts of diabolical things 
she was beginning to accuse me of; that of having evaded 
her for some great number of years, among the rest. I 
stopped her; telling her I had no mind to be the depos- 
itory of other people’s secrets.” 

“She solemnly protested to me after you rode away, 
sir, that you were the man who had wrought the ill upon 
her,” interposed Austin. “I told her I felt certain she 
was mistaken; and so drew down her anger upon me.” 

“Of what nature was the ill complained of?” asked 
Dr. Bevary. 

“ I cannot tell,” said Austin. “I seemed to gather 
from her words that the ill was upon her family, or upon 
some portion of her family, more than upon her. I re- 
member she made use of the expression, that it had broken 
up her happy home.” 

“And you did not know her?” exclaimed the doctor, 
looking at Mr. Henry Hunter. 

“Know her?” I’eturned Mr. Henry; “I never set eyes 
on her in all my life, until that day. I never was in the 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


S3 


place before, or in its neighborhood. If I ever did work 
her wrong, or ill, I must have done it in my sleep; and 
with miles of distance intervening. Who is she? What 
is her name?” 

^‘Her name is Gwinn, sir, and they come, it is said, 
from Wales. Her brother, many years ago, was articled 
to a lawyer in Ketterford, and in course of time he suc- 
ceeded. to the business. After this, a long while, I 
believe, a lady arrived one morning and took up her 
abode with him. It was discovered to be his sister, and 
tiie people in Ketterford say she is mad. Sometimes 
she ” 

‘^What did you say the name was!” interrupted Dr. 
Bevary, with startling emphasis. Gwinn? and from 
Wales?” 

'^Yes.” 

Dr. Bevary paused, as if in deep thought. What is 
lier Christian name?” he presently inquired. 

^‘It is a somewhat uncommon one,” replied Austin. 

Agatha.” 

The doctor nodded his head, as if expecting the 
answer. 

^^A tall, spare, angular woman, of great strength,” he 
remarked. 

AVhy, what do you know of her?” exclaimed Mr. 
Henry Hunter to the doctor, in a surprised tone. 

‘^Kot a great deal. We medical men come across all 
sorts of persons occasionally,” was the doctor^s reply. 
And it was given in a concise, laconic manner, as if he 
did not care to be questioned further. Mr. Henry 
Hunter pursued the subject. 

‘^If you know her, Bevary, perhaps you can tell 
whether she is mad or sane.” 

She is sane. But she is one who can allow, perhaps, 
anger to master her at moments; I have seen it do so. 
Do you say her brother is a lawyer?” he continued to 
Austin Clay. 

Yes, he is. And not one of the first water, as to 
reputation — a grasping, pettifogging practitioner, who 
will take up any dirty case that may be brought to him. 
And in that, I fancy, he is a contrast to his sister; for, 
with all her strange ways, I should not judge her to be 


24 


A LIFE'S SECEET. 


dishonorable. It is said he speculates, and that he is 
not over particular whose money he gets to do it with.^^ 
wonder that she never told me about this brother,^’ 
dreamily exclaimed the doctor, in an inward tone, as if 
forgetting that he spoke aloud. 

“ Where did you meet with her? When did you know 
her?’"’ interposed Mr. Henry Hunter. 

'‘^Are you sure that you know nothing about her?’^ was 
the doctor’s rejomder, turning a searching glance upon 
Mr. Henry Hunter. 

“ Gome, Bevary, what have you got in your head? I 
do not know her. I never met with her till she saw and 
accosted me. Are you acquainted with her history?” 

With a dark page in it.” 

^MVhat is the page?” 

Dr. Bevary shook his head. 

^Mn the course of a physician’s practice he becomes 
cognizant of many odds and ends of romance, dark or 
fair; things which he must hold sacred, and may not give 
utterance to.” 

Mr. Henry Hunter looked vexed. 

“ Perhaps you can understand the reason for her at- 
tacking me.” 

I could understand it, but for your persistent asser- 
tion of her being a stranger to you. If it is so, I can 
only believe that she mistook you for another.” 

//’it is so,” repeated Mr. Henry Hunter. I am not 
in the habit of asserting an untruth, Bevary.” 

^‘Hor, on the other hand, is Miss G winn one to be de- 
ceived. She is keen as a razor. But, here am I, gossip- 
ing my morning away, when a host of patients are wait- 
ing for me. We poor doctors never get a holiday, like 
you more favored mortals.” 

He laughed as he went out, nodding a friendly fare- 
well to xlustin. Mr. Henry Hunter stepped out after 
him. Then Mr. Hunter, who had not taken part in the 
discussion, but had stood looking from the window while 
they carried it on, wheeled round to Austin and spoke in 
a low, earnest tone. 

“ What is this tale — this mystery — that my brother 
and the doctor seem to be picking up?” 

Sir, I know no more than you have heard me say. 
I witnessed her attack on Mr. Henry Hunter.” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


35 


I should like to know further about it; about her. 
Will you 

His voice died away, for at that moment Mr. Henry 
Hunter returned. 


CHAPTEE III. 

Turkin"G to the right after quitting the business 
premises of the Messrs. Hunter, you came to an open, 
handsome part, where the square in which those gentle- 
men dwelt was situated, with other desirable squares, 
crescents and houses. But, if you turned to the left in- 
stead of to the right, you very speedily found yourself in 
the midst of a dense locality not so agreeable to the eye 
or to the senses. 

And yet, some parts of this were not much to be com- 
plained of, unless you instituted a comparison between 
them and those open places; but in this world all things 
are estimated by comparison. Take Daffodil’s Delight, 
for example. ‘^Daffodil’s Delight!” cries the puzzled 
reader, uncertain whether it may be a live animal or 
something to eat, “ what’s that?” Daffodil’s Delight was 
nothing more than a tolerably long street, or lane, or 
double row of houses — wide enough for a street, dirty 
enough for a lane, the buildings irregular, not always 
contiguous, small gardens before some, and a few trees 
scattered here and there. AVhen the locality was mostly 
fields, and the buildings on them scanty, a person of the 
name of Daffodil ran up a few tenements. He found 
that they let well, and he ran up more, and more, and 
more, until there was a long, long line of them and he 
growing rich. He called the place Daffodil’s Delight — 
which we may suppose expressed his own complacent sat- 
isfaction at his success — and Daffodil’s Delight it had 
continued, down to the present day. The houses were 
c 2 various sizes, and of fancy appearance; some large, 
some small; some rising up like a narrow tower, some but 
a story high; some were all windows, some seemed to have 
none; some you could only gain by ascending steps; to 
others you patched down as into a cellar; some luy back, 
with gardens before their doors, while others projected 
pretty nearly on to the street gutter. Nothing in the 
way of houses could be more irregular; and, what Mr. 


26 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


Daffodirs motives could have been in erecting such, can- 
not be conjectured — unless he formed an idea that he 
would make a venture to suit various tastes and diverse 
pockets. 

Nearly at the beginningof this locality, in its best part, 
there stood a house detached, white — one of only six 
rooms, but superior in appearance, and well kept; indeed 
it looked more like a gentleman’s cottage residence tlian 
a working man’s. Veranda blinds were outside the win- 
dows, and green wire fancy stands held geraniums and 
other plants on the stone copings, against their lower 
panes, obviating the necessity for inside blinds. In this 
liouse lived Peter Quale. He had begun life carrying 
hods of mortar for masons, and covering up bricks with 
straw — a half-starved urchin, his feet as naked as his 
head, and his body pretty nearly- the same. But he was 
steady, industrious, and persevering — just one of those 
men that tuork on for decent position, and acquire it. 
From two shillings a week to four, from four to six, from 
six to twelve — such had been Peter Quale’s beginnings. 
At twelve shillings he remained for some time stationary, 
and then his advance was rapid. Now he was one of the 
superior artisans of the Messrs. Hunter’s yard; was, in 
fact, in a post of trust, and his wages had grown in pro- 
portion. Daffodil’s Delight said that Qnale’s earnings 
could not be less than £150 per annum. A steady, sen- 
sible, honest, but somewhat obstinate man, well-read and 
intelligent; for Peter, while he advanced his circum- 
stances, held not neglected his mind. He had cultivated 
that far more than he had his speech or his manner; a 
homely tone and grammar, better known to Daffodil’s 
Delight than to polite ears, Peter favored still. 

In the afternoon of Whit-Monday, the day spoken of 
above, Peter sat in the parlor of his house, a pipe in his 
mouth, and a book in liis hands. He looked about mid- 
way between forty and fifty, had a round, bald head, sur- 
mounted just now by a paper cap, a fair complexion, gray 
whiskers, and a well-marked forehead, especially where 
lie the perceptive faculties. His eyes were deeply sunk 
in his head, and he was by nature a silent man. In the 
kitchen behind, “wasiiing up” after dinner, was his 
helpmate, Mrs. Quale. Although so well to do, and hav- 
ing generally a lodger, she kept no servant — “ Wouldn’t 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


27 


be bothered with 'em/' she Scaid — but did her own work; 
a person coming in once a week to clean. 

A rattling commotion in the street caused Peter Quale 
to look up from liis book. A large pleasure-van had 
come rumbling down it, and was drawing up at the next 
door to his. 

'‘Nancy!" called out he to his wife. 

“Well?" came forth, in a brisk, bustling voice, from 
the depths of the kitchen. 

“Tlie Shucks, and that lot, be actually going off now!" 

The news appeared to excite the curiosity of Mrs. 
Quale, and she came hastily in; a dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked 
little woman, with black curls and a neat white cap, well 
dressed in a plum-colored striped gown of some thin 
woolen material, a black apron, and a coarse apron 
pinned over that. She was an inveterate busybody, knew 
every incident that took place in Daffodil's Delight, and 
possessed a free and easy tongue, butwasa kindly woman 
withal, and very popular. Slie put her head outside the 
window, above the geraniums, to reconnoiter. 

“ Oh, they bo going, sure enough! Well, they are 
fools! That's just like Slippery Sam! By to-morrow 
they won't have a threepenny piece to bless themselves 
Avitii. . But, if they must have went they might have 
started earlier in the day. There's the Whites! And 
why! — there's the Dunns! The van Avon't hold 'em all. 
As for the Dunns, they'll have to pinch for a month after 
it. She has got on a dandy uoav bonnet with pink rib- 
bons. Aren't some folks idiots, Peter?" 

Peter rejoined Avith a sort of a grunt, that it wasn't no 
business of his, and applied himself again to his pipe and 
book. Mrs. Quale made everybody's business hers, espe- 
cially their failings and shortcomings; and she unpinned 
the coarse apron, flung it aside, and fleAV off to the next 
house. 

It Avas inhabited by two families, the Shucks and the 
Baxendales. Samuel Shuck, usually called Slippery 
Sam, Avas an idle, oily-tongued chap, ahvays slipping 
from work — hence the nickname — and spending at the 
“Bricklayer's Arms" Avhat ought to have been spent 
upon his Avife and children. John Baxendale Avas a 
quiet, reserved man, living i-espectably Avith his Avife and 
daughter, but not saving. It Avas singular how improvi- 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


dent most of them were. Daffodil’s Delight was chiefly 
inhabited by the workmen of the Messrs. Hunter; they 
seemed to love to congregate there as in a nest. Some of 
the houses were crowded with them, a family on a floor 
— even in a room: others rented a house to themselves, 
and lived in comfort. 

Assembled inside Sam Shuck^s front room, which was 
a kitchen and not a parlor, and to which the house door 
opened, were as many people as it could liold, all in 
their holiday attire. Abel White, his wife and family; 
Jim Dunn, ditto; Patrick Kyan and the childer (PaPs 
wife was dead); and John Baxendale and his daughter, 
besides others; the whole host of little Shucks, and half 
a dozen outside stragglers. Mrs. Quale might well 
wonder how all the lot could be stuffed into the pleasure- 
van. She darted into their midst. 

‘‘You never mean to say you be a going off, like sim- 
pletojis, at this time o^ day?’^ quoth she. 

“ Yes, we be/^ answered Sam Shuck, a lanky, serpent 
sort of a man in frame, with a prominent black eye, a 
turned-up nose, and, as has been said, an oily tongue. 
“What have you got to say again it, Mrs. Quale? come!” 

“ Say!” said that lady, undauntedly, but in a tone of 
reason, rather than rebuke, “ I say you may just as well 
fling your money into the gutter, as to go off to Epping 
at three o’clock in the afternoon. Why didn’t you start 
in the morning? If I hired a pleasure-van, I’d have my 
money’s worth out of it.” 

“ It’s just this here,” said Sam. “ It was ordered to 
be here as St. Paul’s great bell was a-striking break o’ 
day, but the wheels wasn’t greased; and they have been 
all this while a-greasing ’em with the best fresh butter at 
eighteen pence a pound, had up from Devonshire on pur- 
pose.” 

“ You hold your tongue, Sam,” reprimanded Mrs. 
Quale. “You have been a-greasing your throat pretty 
strong, I see, with a extra pot or two; you’ll be in for it 
as usual before the day’s out. How is it you are going 
now?” she added, turning to the women. 

“ It’s just the worst managed thing as I ever had to do 
with,” volubly spoke up Jim Dunn’s wife, Hannah. 
“And it’s all the fault o’ the men, ns everything as goes 
wrong always is. There was a quarrel yesterday over it, 


A LIFE SECRET. 


29 


and nothing was settled, and this morning when we met, 
they began a jawing again. Some would go, and some 
would n^t; some ’ud have a van to the Forest, and some 
hid take a omnibus ride up to the Zoological Gardens, 
see the beasts, and finish up at the play; some hid sit at 
home, and smoke and drink, and wouldn’t go nowhere; 
and most of the men got off to the Bricklayers’ Arms 
and stuck there; and afore the difference was settled in 
favor of the van and the Forest, twelve o’clock struck, 
and then there was dinner to be had, and us to put our- 
selves to rights, and the van to be seen after. And there 
it is, now three o’clock’s gone.” 

''It’ll be just a ride out and a ride in,” cried Mrs. 
Quale; '^for you won’t have much time to stop. Money 
must be plentiful with you, afooling it away like that. 
I thought some of you had better sense.” 

" We spoke against it, father and I,” said quiet Mary 
Baxendale, in Mrs. Qualo’s ear; " but as we had given 
our word to join it and share in the expense, we didn’t like 
to go from it again. Mother doesn’t feel strong to-day, 
so she’s stopping at home.” 

" It does seem stupid to start at this late hour,” spoke 
up a comely woman, mild in speech, Robert Darby’s wife. 
" Better to have put it off till to-morrow, and taken an- 
other day’s holiday, as I told my master. But when it 
was decided to go, we didn’t say na}^, for I couldn’t bear 
to disappoint the children.” 

The children were already being lifted into the van. 
laundry baskets and bundles, containing provisions for 
is i, and stone bottles of porter for the men, were being 
Jilted in also. Then the general company got in. Daffo- 
dil’s Delight, those not bound on the expedition, assem- 
bling to witness the ceremony, and Peter casting an eye 
at it from his parlor. After much packing, and stowing, 
and laughing, and jesting, and the gentlemen declaring 
the ladies must sit upon their laps three deep, the van 
and its four horses moved off, and went lumbering down 
Daffodil’s Delight. 

Mrs. Quale, after watching the last of it, was turning 
into her own gate, when she heard a tapping at the win- 
dow of the tenement on the o^/ier side of her house. 
Upon looking round, it was thrown open, and a portly 
matron, dressed almost well enough for a lady, put out 


30 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


her head. She was the wife of George Stevens, a very 
well-to-do workman, and most respectable man. 

Are they going off to the Forest at this hour, that 
lot?^^ 

returned Mrs. Quale; was ever such nonsense 
known? l"d have made a day of it, if I had went. 
They’ll get home at midnight, I expect, fit to stand on 
their heads. Some of tlie men have had almost as much 
as is good for ’em, now.” 

‘^1 say,” continued Mrs. Stevens, George sa3^s, will 
you and your master come in for an hour or two this 
evening, and eat a bit of supper with us? We shall have 
a nice dish o’ beefsteaks and onions, or some relishing 
thing of that sort, and the Cheeks ai’e coming.” 

Thank ye,” said Mrs. Quale. I’ll ask Peter. But 
don’t go and get anything hot, now.” 

I must,” was the answer. We had a shoulder of 
lamb yesterday, and we finished it up to-day for din- 
ner, with a salad; so there’s nothing cold in the house, 
and I’m forced to get a bit of something. I say, don’t 
make it late; come at six. George — he’s off somewhere, 
but he’ll be in.” 

Mrs. Quale nodded acquiescence, and went in -doors. 
Her husband was reading and smoking still. 

‘^I’d have put it off till ten at night, and went then!” 
ironically cried she, in allusion to the depai'ted pleasure- 
party. A bickering and contending they have been 
over it, Hannah Dunn says; couldn’t come to an agree- 
ment what they’d do, or what they wouldn’t do! Did 
you ever see such a load? Them poor horses’ll have 
enough of it, if the others don’t. . I say! the Stevenses 
want us to go in there to supper to-night. Beefsteaks 
and onions.” 

Peter’s head was bent attentively over a map in his 
book, and it continued so bent for a minute or two. Then 
he raised it. Who’s to be there?” 

The Cheeks,” she said. I’ll make haste and put the 
kettle on, and we’ll have our tea as soon as it boils! She 
says don’t go in later than six.” 

Pinning on the coarse apron, Mrs. Quale passed into the 
kitchen to her work. From the above slight sketch, it 
may be gathered that Daffodil’s Delight was, take it for 
all in all, in tolerably comfortable circumstances. But 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


SI 


for the wasteful mode of living generally pervading it; 
the improvidence both of linsbiinds and wives; the spend- 
ing where tliey need not have spent, and in things tliey 
would have been better without — it would have been in 
very comfortable circumstances; for, as is well known, no 
class of operatives earn better wages than those connected, 
with the building trade. 

^^s this Peter" Qualo^s?’^ 

The question proceeded from a stranger, who had en- 
tered the house passage, and thence the parlor, after 
knocking at its door. Peter raised his eyes, and beheld 
a tall, young, very gentlemanlike man; one of courteous 
mannei's, for he lifted his hat as he spoke, though Peter 
was only a workman and had a paper cap on his head. 

I am Peter Quale, said Peter, without moving. 

Perhaps you may have already guessed that it was Aus- 
tin Clay. He stepped forward with a frank smile. ‘‘I 
am sent here,"” he said, by the ^lessieurs Hunter. They 
desired me to inquire for Peter Quale. 

Peter was not wont to put himself out of the way for 
strangers: had a duke royal vouchsafed him a visit, I 
question if Peter would have been more than barely civil; 
but ho knew his place with respect to his employers, and 
what was due to them — none better; and he rose up at 
their name, and took off liis paper cap, and laid his pipe 
inside the fender, and spoke a word of apology to the 
gentleman before him. 

‘^Praydonot mention it: do not disturb yourself, 
said Austin, kindly. My name is Clay. I have just 
entered into an engagement with the Messieurs Hunter, 
and am now in search of lodgings as conveniently near 
their yard as may be. Mr. Henry Hunter said he thought 
you had rooms which might suit me: hence my intru- 
sion. 

'MVell, sir, I donT know,^M’eturned Peter rather du- 
biously. He was one of those who are apt to grow be- 
wildered with any sudden proposition; requiring time, as 
may be said, to take it in, before he could digest it. 

You are from the country, sir, maybe 

am from the country. I arrived in London but an 
hour ago, and my portmanteau is yet at the station. I 
wish to settle where I shall lodge, before I go to get it. 
Have you rooms to let?^^ 


82 


A LIFE 'S SECRET. 


^‘Here, Nancy, come in!"’ cried Peter to his wife. 

The rooms are in readiness to be shown, areiiT thoy?^’ 

Mrs. Quale required no second call. Hearing a strange 
voice, and gifted in a remarkable degree with what we are 
taught to look upon as her sex's failing — curiosity — she 
had already discarded again the apron, and made her ap- 
pearance in time to receive the question. 

Ready and waiting," answered she. '^And two bet- 
ter rooms, for their size, you won't find, sir, search Lon- 
don through," she said, volubly, turning to Austin. 

They are on the first floor— a nice sitting-room, and a 
bed chamber behind it. The furniture — all good, and 
clean, and handsome; for, when we was buying of it, we 
didn't spare a few pounds, knowing such would keep 
good to the end. Please step up and take a look at 
'em." 

Austin acquiesced, motioning to her to lead tlie way. 
She dropped a courtesy as she passed him, as if in apology 
for taking it. He followed, and Peter brought up the 
rear, a dim notion penetrating Peter's brain tiiat ic was 
due from liim to attend one sent by the IMessrs. Hunter. 

Two good rooms, as she had said, small, but well fitted 
up. You'd be sure to be comfortable, sir," cried Mrs. 
Quale to Austin; for if I can’t make lodgers comfortable, 
I don't know who can. Our last gentleman came to us 
three years ago, and left but a month since. He was a 
barrister's clerk, but he didn't get well paid, and he 
lodged in this part for cheapness." 

^‘The rooms would suit me, so far as I can judge," 
said Austin, looking round; “suit me very well indeed, 
if we can agree upon terms. My pocket is but a shallow 
one at present," he laughed. 

“I would make them easy enough for any gentleman 
sent by the masters," struck in Peter. “Did you say 
your name was Clay, sir?" 

“ Clay," assented Austin. 

Mrs. Quale wheeled round at this, and took a free, full 
view of the gentleman from head to foot. “ Clay? Clay?" 
she repeated to herself. “ And therein a likeness if ever 
I saw one! Sir," she hastily inquired, “do you come 
from the neighborhood of Ketterford?" 

“ I come from Ketterford itself," replied he. 

“ Ah, but you were not born right in the town. I 


:1 LIFE'S SECRET. 


88 


think you must be Austin Clay, sir — the orphan son of 
Mr. Clay and his wife — Miss Austin that used to be. 
They lived at the Nash farm. Sir, I liave had you on 
my lap scores of times when you were a little one.*^' 

Wliy — who are you?’^ exclaimed Austin. 

^‘You canT have forgot old Mr. Austin, the great 
uncle, sir? though you were only seven years old when he 
died. I was cook to the old gentleman. Many a fruit 
puff have I made for you. Master Austin; many a cur- 
rant cake; how things come round in this world. Do 
take our rooms, sir — it will seem like serving my old mas- 
ter over again.” 

‘^1 will take them willingly, and be glad to fall into 
such good hands. You will not require references now?” 

Mrs. Quale laughed. Peter grunted resentfully. Ref- 
erences from any one sent by Messrs, Hunter! “I 
would say eight shillings a week, sir,” said Peter, looking 
at his wife. Pay as you like; monthly, or quarterly, 
or any way.” 

That’s less than I expected,” said Austin, in his can- 
dor. “Mr. Henry Hunter thought they would be about 
ten shillings.” 

Peter was candid also. “There’s the neighborhood to 
be took into consideration, sir, which is not a good one, 
and we can only let according to it. In some })arts — not 
far off, neither — you’d pay eighteen or twenty shillings 
for such rooms as these; but in Daffodil’s Delight it’s dif- 
ferent. The last gentleman paid us nine. If eight will 
suit you, sir, it will suit us.” 

So the bargain was struck; and Austin Clay went back 
to the station for his luggage, while Mrs. Quale, busy as 
a bee, ran to tell her neighbor, Mrs. Stevens, that she 
could not be one of the beefsteak-a’id-onion eaters that 
night, though Peter might, for slu^ should have her hands 
full with their new lodger. “The nicest, handsomest 
young fellow,” she wound up with, “ one it’ll be a pleas- 
ure to wait on.” 

“ Take care what you be at, if he’s a stranger,” cried 
cautious Mrs. Stevens. “ Tliere’s no trusting those 
country folks; they run away sometimes. It looks odd, 
don’t it, to come after lodgings one minute, and enter 
upon ’em the next?” 

“Very odd,” laughed Mrs. Quale. 


“Why, it was Mr. 


84 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


ITenrv Hunter sent him round, and he has got a post in 
tlieir" house. What he^s to be there, who knows? but 
above us work people, we may depend on^t. And as to 
himself, I knew him as a baby. It was in his motlier^s 
family I lived before ever I married Peter Quale. He’s 
as like his mother as two peas, and a handsome woman 
was Mrs. Clay. Good-bye: I’m going to get the sheets 
on to his bed now.” 

Mrs. Quale, however, found tliat she was, after all, 
able to “ assist” at the supper; for, when Austin came 
back, it was only to dress himself and go out. He had 
been invited to dine at Mr. Henry Hunter’s. 

It so happened that business was remarkably brisk 
with the Hunters last spring. They could scarcely get 
hands enough. And when Austin explained the cause 
which had brought him to town, and frankly proffered 
the question — could they recommend him to any employ- 
ment? they were too glad to offer it themselves. He 
produced his credentials of capacity and character, and 
was engaged forthwith. At present his duties were to 
be partly in the counting-house, partly in overlooking 
the men; and the salary offered was twenty-five pounds 
per quarter. 

*‘I can rise above that in time, I suppose,” said Austin, 
smiling, if I give satisfaction?” 

Mr. Hunter smiled, too. '^Ay, you can rise above 
that, if you choose. But when you get on, you’ll be 
doing, I expect, as most of the rest do.” 

What IS that, sir?” 

Leaving us, to set up for yourself. Numbers have 
done so as soon as they have become valuable. I do not 
speak of the men, but of those who have been with us in 
a higher capacity. A few of the men, though, have done 
the same; some have risen into infiuence.” 

‘‘How can they do that without capital?” inquired 
Austin. “ It must take money, and a good deal of it, to 
set up for themselves.” 

“Not so much as you may think. They begin in a 
small way — take piece-work, and work early and late, 
often fourteen and fifteen hours a day, husbanding their 
earnings, and getting a capital togetiier by slow, but sure 
degrees. Many of our most important firms have so 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


S5 

risen, and owe their present positions to sheer hard work, 
patience and enerj^y/^ 

was the way in which Mr. Thornimett rose,’' ob- 
served Austin. ‘‘ He was once a journeyman at fourteen 
shillings a week. He got together money by working 
over-hours.” 

‘‘Ay, there’s nothing like it for the industrious man,” 
said Mr. Hunter. 

At six, Austin was at Mr. Henry Hunter’s. Mrs. 
Henry Hunter, a very pretty and very talkative woman, 
welcomed him with both hands, and told her children to 
do the same, for it was “ the gentleman who had saved 
papa.” There was no ceremony; he was received quite 
en famille; no other guest was present, and three or four 
of the children dined at the table. He appeared to find 
favor with them all. He talked on business matters v/ith 
Mr. Henry Hunter; on lighter topics with his wife; he 
pointed out someerrors in Mary Hunter’s drawings, which 
she somewhat ostentatiously exhibited to him, and showed 
her how to rectify them; entered into the school-life of 
the two boys, from tlieir classics to their scrapes; and 
nursed a pretty little lady of five, who insisted on appro- 
priating his knee — bearing himself throughout all with 
the modest reticence — the refinement of the innate gen- 
tleman. Mrs. Henry Hunter was charmed with him. 

“ How do you think you shall like your quarters?” she 
asked. “Mr. Hunter told me he recommended you to 
Peter Quale’s.” 

“ Vei-y much. Mrs. Quale, it appears, is an old friend 
of mine.” 

“An old friend! Of yours!” 

“ She claims me as one, and says she has nursed me 
many a time when I was a child. I had quite forgotten 
her and all about her, though I now do remember her 
name. She was formerly a servant in my mother’s fam- 
ily, near Ketterford.” 

Thus Austin Olay had succeeded without difficulty in 
obtaining employment, and was, moreover, received on a 
footing of equality in the house of Mr. Henry Hunter. 
We shall see how he gets on. 


A LIFERS SECRET. 




CHAPTER IV. 

Were there space, it might be well to trace Austin 
Clay’s progress step by stop — his advancements and his 
drawbacks — his smooth-sailing and his difficulties; for, 
that he was not free from difficulties and drawbacks you 
maybe very sure. I do not know who is. If you liave 
thought he was to be represented as perfection, you were 
mud) mistaken: he got into sci-.apes — or pitfalls, as Mrs. 
Thornimett had termed it — not many; he had better 
sense chan that. And he managed to get out of them 
without moral damage, for he was high-principled in 
every sense of the word. But there is not time to trace 
this; and it would be anticipating, besides. 

Austin Clay sat one day in a small room of the office, 
making corrections in a certain plan, which had been 
roughly sketched. It was a hot day for the beginning of 
autumn, some three or four months having elapsed since 
his installation at the Messrs. Hunters. The office boy 
entered. 

Please, sir, here’s a lady outside asking if she can see 
young Ml’. Clay.” 

^‘A lady!” repeated Austin, in some wonder as to 
what lady could be wanting him; for his acquaintance in 
that way was limited to Mrs. Hunter and Mi’s. Henry 
Huntei*. ‘‘Does she wear widow’s weeds?” he hastily 
resumed, an idea flashing over him that Mrs. Thornimett 
might have come up to town. 

“Weeds? I dunnow,” replied the boy, probably at a 
loss to know what “ weeds ” might mean. “ She have got 
a white veil on.” 

“ Oh,” said Austin, “ Well, ask her to come in. But 
I don’t ‘know any lady that can want me.” 

The lady came in — a very tall one. She wore a dark 
silk dress, a shephei’d’s plaid shawl, a straw bonnet, and 
a white veil. Austin rose to receive her. 

“ You are doubtless surprised to see me, Austin Clay. 
But as I was coming to London on business — I always do 
at this season of the year — I got your address from Mrs. 
Thornimett, having a question to put to you.” 

Without ceremony, without invitation, she set herself 
down on a chair. More by her voice than her features — 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


37 


for she kept her veil before her face — did Austin recog- 
nize her. It was Miss Gwinn. He recognized her witli 
dismay. Mr. Henry Hunter was about the premises, 
liable to come in at any moment, and then might occur 
a repetition of that violent scene to which he had been a 
witness. ‘‘ What shall I do with her?^" thought Austin. 

Will you shut the door?” she said, in a peremptory, 
short tone, for the boy had left it open. 

I beg your pardon. Miss Gwinn,” interrupted Austin, 
perplexity giving him courage. “Though very glad to 
see you myself, I am at the present hour so busy that it 
is next to impossible for me to give you my attention. 
If you will name any place I can wait upon you after 
business hours, this or any other evening, I shall be happy 
to meet you.” 

Miss Gwinn ranged her eyes round the room, looking 
possibly for confirmation of his words. “You are not so 
busy as to be unable to spare a minute. You were but 
looking over a plan.” 

“ It is a plan that is being waited for.” Which was 
true. “And you must forgive me for reminding you — I 
do it in all courtesy — that my time and this room do not 
belong to me, but to my employers,” 

“Boy! wliat is your motive for seeking to get rid of 
me?” she asked, abruptly. “That you have one, I can 
see.” 

Austin was upon thorns. He had not taken a seat. 
He stood, pencil in hand, hoping it would induce her to 
move. At that moment footsteps were heard, and the 
office door was pushed Avide ojDcn. 

It Avas Mr. Hunter. He stopped on the threshold, 
seeing a lady. He supposed it might bo somebody for 
Mr. Clay; her features, shaded by the A^eil, Avere indis- 
tinct, and to him she appeared to be a stranger. Miss 
Gwinn looked fully at him, and hent her head, as a 
slight mark of courtesy. He responded by lifting his hat, 
and Avent out again. 

“ One of the principals, I suppose?” she remarked to 
Austin. 

“ Yes,” he replied, thanking good luck that it was not 
Mr. Henry; “I belioA^e he Avants me, Miss Gwinn.” 

“I am not going to keep you from him. The question 


38 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


I wish to put to you will be answered in a sentence. 

Austin Clay, have you, since ’’ 

Allow me one single instant first, then,^^ interrupted 
Austin, resigning himself to his fate, just to speak a 
word of explanation to Mr. Hunter. 

He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind 
him. Standing at the outer door, close by, oj3en to the 
yard, was Mr. Hunter. Austin, in his haste and earnest- 
ness, grasped his arm. 

Find Mr. Henry, sir,^^ he whispered; wherever he 
may be, let him keep there — out of sight — until she — this 
person — has gone. It is Miss Gwinn.’^ 

** Who? — what do you say?" cried Mr. Hunter, staring 
at Austin. 

“It is that Miss Gwinn. The woman who set upon 
Mr. Henry in that strange manner. She " 

Miss Gwinn opened the door at that juncture, and 
looked out upon them. Mr. Hunter walked briskly away 
in search of his brother. Austin turned back again. 

She closed the door when he was inside the room, keep- 
ing her hand upon it. She did not sit down, but stood 
facing Austin, Avhom she held before her with the other 
hand. 

“ Have yon, since you came to London, seen aught of 
my enemy? that man whom you saved from his death in 
the gravel pits? Boy! answer me truthfully, as you 
would answer your Maker." 

How, independent of the solemn enjoinder conveyed 
in the last sentence, Austin would have revolted fi-om 
answering a deliberate falsehood to a deliberate question. 
He remained silent, scarcely seeing what his course ought 
to be. She read the hesitation aright. 

“ No need of your affirmative," ^he said. “I see you 
have met him; where is he to be found?" 

There was only one course for him now; and he took 
it, in all straightforward openness. 

“It is true I have seen that gentleman. Miss Gwinn, 
but I can tell you nothing about him." 

She looked fixedly at him. “ That you cannot, or that 
you will not — which?" 

“That I will not. Forgive the seeming incivility of 
the avowal, but I consider that I ought not to comply 
with your request — that I should be doing wrong." 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


89 


** Explain. What do you mean by wrong?’^ 

'^In the first jilace, I believe you were mistaken with 
regard to the gentleman; 1 do not think he was the one 
for whom you took him. In the second place, even if he 
be the one, I cannot make it my business to bring you 
into contact with him, and so give rise — as it probably 
would — to further violence. 

There was a pause. She threw up her veil and looked 
fixedly at him, struggling for composure, her lips com- 
pressed, her face working. 

You know who he is, and where he lives,’^she jerked 
forth. 

‘‘I acknowledge that.” 

How dare you take part against me?” she cried, in 
agitation, “Would you become a worker of wickedness 
as he is?” 

“I do not take part against you, Miss Gwinn,’^ ho re- 
plied, wishing some friendly balloon w'ould come and 
whirl her away out of danger; for Mr. Hunter might not 
find his brother to give the warning. “I do not take 
his p:irt more than I take yours, only in so far that I de- 
cline to tell you who and wdiere he is. Had he the same 
ill-feeling towards you, and wished to know where you 
might be found, I would not tell him.” 

“Austin Clay, you shall tell me.” 

He drew himself up to his full height, speaking in 
all the quiet consciousness of power. “Hever of my 
own free will; and I think. Miss Gwinn, there are no 
means by which you can compel me.” 

“ Perhaps the law might?” She spoke dreamily, not 
in answer to him, but in commune with herself, as if de- 
bating the question. “ Fare you well for the present, 
young sir, but I have not done with you.” 

To his intense satisfaction she turned out of the office. 
Austin attended her to the outer gate. She strode 
straight on, not deigning to cast a glance to the busy 
yard, with its sheds, its timber, its implements of work, 
and its artisans, all scattered about it. 

“ Believe me,” he said, holding out his hand as a peace 
offering, “I am not willingly discourteous. I wish I 
could see my way clear to help you.” 

She did not take the hand; she walked away without 
another word or look, and Austin went back again. Mr. 


40 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


Hunter advanced to meet him from the upper end of the 
yard, and went with liim into the office. 

What was all that. Clay? I scarcely understood.” 

i dare say not, sir, for I had no time to be explana- 
tory. It seems she — Miss Gwinn — has come to town on 
business. She procured my address from Mrs. Thorni- 
mett, and came here to ask me if I had seen anything of 
her enemy — meaning Mr. Henry Hunter. I feared lest 
he should be coming in; I could only beg of you to find 
Mr. Henry, and warn him not. That is all, sir.” 

Mr. Hunter stood with his back to Austin, softly 
whistling— his habit when in deep thought. What can 
be her motive for wanting to find him?” he presently 
said. 

She speaks of revenge. Of course I do not know for 
what; I cannot give a guess. There is no doubt slie is 
mistaken in the person, when she accuses Mr. Henry 
Hunter.” 

Well,” returned Mr. Hunter, “1 said nothing to my 
brother, for I did not understand what there was to say. 
It will be better not to tell him now; the woman is gone, 
and the subject does not appear to be a pleasant one. 
Do you hear?” 

‘‘ Very well, sir.” 

“1 tliink 1 understood, when the affair was spoken 
of some time ago, that she does not know him as Mr. 
Hunter?” 

‘^Of course she does not,” said Austin. She would 
have been here after him before now if she did. She 
came tliis morning to see me, not suspecting she might 
meet him.” 

^‘Ah! Better keep the visit close,” cried Mr. Hunter, 
as lie walked away. 

Now, it occurred to Austin that it would be better to 
do just the opposite thing. He should have told Mr. 
Henry Hunter, and left that gentleman to seek out Miss 
Gwinn, or not, as he might choose. A sudden meeting 
between them in the office, in the hearing of the yard, 
and with the lady in excitement, was not desirable; but, 
that Mr. Henry Hunter should clear himself, now that 
she was following him up, and convince her it was not he 
who was the suspected party, was, Austin thought, need- 
ful. However, he could only obey Mr. Hunter^s orders. 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


41 


Austin resumed his occupation. His head and finsfers 
were busy over the plan, when he saw a gig drive into 
tlie yard. It contained the great engineer, Sir Michael 
Wilson. Mr. Henry Hunter came down the yard to meet 
him; they shook hands and entered the private room to- 
gether. In a few minutes Mr. Henry came to Austin. 

Are you particularly engaged, Clay?’^ 

Only' with this plan, sir. It is wanted as soon as I 
can get it done.'’^ 

You can leave it for a quarter of an hour. I want 
you to go round to Dr. Bevary. I was to have been at 
his house now — half-past eleven — to go out with him to 
see a sick friend. Tell him that Sir Michael has come, 
therefore it is impossible for me to keep my engagement 
with him. I am very sorry, tell Bevary: these things al- 
ways happen crossly. Go right into his consulting- 
room, Clay; never mind patients; or else he will be chaf- 
ing at my delay, 'and grumble the ceiling off.^^ 

Austin laughed. Dr. Bevary occu})ied a good house in 
the main street, to the left of the yard, to gain which you 
liad to pass the turning to Daffodil’s Delight. Hiid Mr. 
Bevary lived on the riglit of the yard, his practice might 
have been more exclusive; but doctors cannot always 
choose their localities, circumstances more frequently do- 
ing that for them. He had a large connection, and was 
often pressed for time. 

Down went Austin. The doctor’s engaged, sir,” 
was the answer of the servant. And, inded, the hand- 
some carriage of a patient was then standing before the 
door. 

^^ril wait,” he said, and was turning, sa7is ceremo7iie, 
into the little box of a study on the left of the hall. 

^^Not there, sir,” interposed the man liastily, and 
showed him into a drawing-room on the right, Dr. Bevary 
and his patient being in the dining-room at the back; 
or, as the doctor generally called it, his consulting-room, 
for it was there he saw his patiimts. 

Ten minutes of impatience to Austin. What could 
any lady mean by keeping him so long, in his own house? 
Then they came forth. The lady, a very red and portly 
one, rather old, was pushed into tlie carriage by the help 
of her footman, Austin watching the process from the 
window. The carriage then drove off. 


43 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


The doctor did not come in. Austin concluded the 
servant must liave forgotten to tell him lie was there. He 
crossed the hall to the little study, the doctor’s favorite 
sanctum, knocked and entered. 

“I am not to care for patients,” called out he gayly, 
believing the doctor was alone; Mr. Henry Hunter says 
so.” But, to his surprise, a patient was sitting there; at 
least, a lady, sitting nose and knees together, with Dr. 
Bevary, and talking hurriedly and earnest!}^, as if they 
had the whole weight of the nation’s affairs on their 
shoulders. 

^^So it’s ,You, is it, Austin Clay!” cried the lady. Miss 
Gxoinn. ‘‘T was acquainting Dr. Bevary with your re- 
fusal to give me that man’s address, asking his advice 
whether the law could compel you. Have you come after 
me, to say you have thought better of it?” 

Austin was decidedly taken to. How far was Dr. 
Bevary cognizant of the circumstances? He glanced at 
him. 

AYas your visit to this lady, Mr. Clay?” 

^^No, sir, it was to you. Sir Michael Wilson has come 
down on business, and Mr. Henry Hunter will not be able 
to keep his appointment with you; he desired me to say 
that he was sorry, but that it was no fault of his.” 

Dr. Bevary nodded. ‘^Another time will ” 

A sharp cry. A cry of passion, of rage, almost of ter- 
ror. It came from Miss Gwinn; and the doctor, break- 
ing off his sentence, turned to her in amazement. 

It was well he did so; it was well he caught her hands. 
Another moment, and she would have dashed them 
through the window, and perhaps herself also. Driving 
by, in the gig, were Sir Michael Wilson and Mr. Henry 
Hunter. It was at the latter she gazed, at him she 
pointed. 

‘‘Do you see him? Do you see him?” she panted to 
the doctor. “That’s the man, not the one driving; the 
other — the one sitting this way. Oh, Dr. Bevary, will 
you believe me now? I told you I met him at Ketter- 
ford; and there he is again. Let me go!” 

She was strong almost as a wild animal, wrestling with 
the doctor to get from him. He made a motion to Austin 
to keep the door fast. He got her into an arm-chair at 
last, and stood before her, holding her hands, keeping 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


4S 


eilence at first, then speaking calmly^ soothingly, like he 
would to a child. 

My dear lady, what will become of you if you give 
way to these fits of violence? But for me, I really believe 
you would have been through the window. A pretty af- 
fair of spikes that would be! I should have had you laid 
up in my house for a month, covered over with sticking- 
plaster.'^ 

“If you had not stopped me," she passionately said, 
“I might have caught that gig." 

“Caught that gig! A gig going at the rate of ten 
miles an hour, if it was going one! By the time you had 
got down the steps of my door, it would have been out of 
sigiit. How people can drive at that random rate in 
London streets, I can't tell." 

“Afow can I find him?" she uttered, in a tone of 
anguished wailing. “ Will you not help me. Dr. Bevary? 
Did you note him?" 

“ So far as to see that there were two persons in the 
gig, and that they were men, not women. Do you feel 
sure it was the man you speak of? It is so easy to be 
mistaken in a person who is being whirled along swiftly." 

“Mistaken!" she returned, in a strangely significant 
tone. “ Dr. Bevary, I swear it was he. I have not kept 
him in my lieart for years, to mistake him now. Austin 
Clay," she fiercely added, turning round upon Austin, 
speak; speak the truth from your soul. Was it, 
or was it not, the man whom I met at Ketterford?" 

“I believe it was," was Austin's answer. “ Neverthe- 
less, Miss Gwinn, I do not believe him to be the enemy 
you spoke of — the one who worked you ill. He denies it 
just as solemnly as you assert it; and I am sure he is a 
truthful man." 

“And that I am a liar?" 

“No. That you believe what you assert is only too ap- 
parent. I think it is a case, on your side, of mistaken 
identity." 

Happening to raise his eyes, Austin caught those of 
Dr. Bevary fixed upon him with' a keen, troubled, earnest 
gaze. It asked, as plainly as gaze could ask, “Do you 
believe so? or is the falsehood on Ms side?" 

“Will you disclose to Dr. Bevary the name of that 
man, if you will not to me?" 


44 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


Again the gentlemen’s eyes met, and this time a warn- 
ing look of caution glanced forth from Dr. Bevary’s. 
must decline to speak of him in any way. Miss Gwinn,” 
said Austin. ^^You had my reasons before. Dr. Bevary, 
I have given you the message I was charged with, and 
must wish you both good-day.” 

Austin walked back, full of thought, his faith some- 
what wavering. ^‘It is very strange,” he reflected. 

Could a woman, could any one be so positive as she is, 
unless thoroughly sure? What is the mystery, I wonder? 
That it was no sentimental affair between them, or rub- 
bish of that sort, is patent by the difference in their ages; 
she looks pretty nearly old enough to be his mother. 
Mr. Henry Hunter’s is a remarkable face — one that would 
alter little in a score of years.” 

The bell was ringing twelve as he approached the yard, 
and the workmen were pouring out of it, on their way 
home to dinner. Plentiful tables awaited them; little 
care was on their minds; flourishing was every branch of 
the building trade then. Peter Quale came up to 
Austin. 

Sam Shuck have just been up here, a-eating humble 
pie, and praying to be took on again. But the masters 
be both absent; and Mr. Wells, he said he didn’t choose, 
in a thing like this, to act on his own responsibility, for 
he heard Mr. Hunter say Shuck shouldn’t again be em- 
ployed.” 

^‘1 would not take him on,” replied Austin, if it 
rested with me. An idle, skulking, deceitful vagabond, 
drunk and incapable for a fortnight, and striving to 
spread discontent among the men. But it is not my 
affair. Quale; Mr. Mills is manager.” 

The yard, between twelve and one, was pretty nearly 
deserted. The gentleman spoken of as Mr. Mills, and 
Austin, usually remained; the principals would some- 
times be there, and an odd man or two. The timekeeper 
lived in the yard. Austin rather liked that hour; it was 
quiet. He was applying to his plan with a zest, when 
another interruption came, in the shape of Dr. Bevary. 
Austin began to think he might as well put the drawing 
away altogether. 

'^‘'Anybody in the offices, Mr, Clay, except you?” 
asked the doctor. 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


45 


^^Not in-doors. Mills is about somewhere.” 

Down sat the doctor, and fixed liis keen eyes upon 
Austin. “ What took idace here this morning with Miss 
Gwinn?” 

No harm, sir,” replied Austin, briefly explaining. 

As good luck had it, Mr. Henry kept away. Mr. 
Hunter came in and saw her; but that was all.” 

What is your opinion?” abruptly asked the doctor. 

Come, give it freely. You have your share of judg- 
ment, and of discretion too, or I should not ask it. Is 
she mistaken, or is Henry Hunter false?” 

Austin did not immediately reply. Dr. Bevary mis- 
took the cause of his silence. 

^‘Don^t hesitate, Olay. You know I am trustworthy; 
and it is not I who would stir to harm a Hunter. If I 
seek to come to the bottom of this affair, it is that I may 
do what I can to avert damage, and turn the fruits of 
wrong-doing from their channel.” 

Why, what do you suspect, sir?” returned Austin 
in surprise. 

If only the half of what I begin to suspect be true, 
better for us that — that ” 

Austin looked at him. He, the stoical physician, was 
growing agitated. 

Better that the earth would open and swallow some 
of us up in it. Clay, you need not hesitate.” 

If I hesitated. Dr. Bevary, it was that I really am at 
a loss what answer to give. When Mr. Henry Hun- 
ter denies that he knows the woman, or that he ever 
has known her, he appears to me to speak open truth. 
On the other hand; these recognitions of Miss Gwinn^s, 
and her persistency, are, to say the least of them, sus- 
picious and singular. Until within an hour I had 
full trust in Mr. Henry Hunter; now, I do not know 
what to think.” 

He does not seem ” — Dr. Bevary appeared to bespeak- 
ing to himself, and his head was bent — ‘Mike one who, 
carries about him some dark secret.” 

Mr. Henry Hunter? None less. Never a man whose 
outside gave indications of a clearer conscience. But, 
Dr. Bevary, if her enemy be Mr. Henry Hunter, how is it 
she does not know him by name?” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


4 « 


Ay, there^s another point. She evidently attaches no 
importance to the name of Hunter.” 

What was the name of — of the enemy she talks of?” 
asked Austin. “We must call him ‘enemy/ for want 
of a better name. Do you know it, doctor?” 

“ No, Can^t get it out of her. Never could get it out 
of her. I asked her again to-day, but she evaded the 
question.” 

“ Mr. Hunter thought it would be better to keep her 
visit this morning a secret from his brother, as they had 
not met. I, on the contrary, should have told him of 
it.” 

“No,” hastily interposed Dr. Bevary, putting up his 
hand with an alarmed warning gesture. “ The only 
chance is to keep her and Henry Hunter apart.” 

“ I wonder,” mused Austin, “ what brings her to 
town?” 

The doctor threw his penetrating gaze into Austin’s. 
“ Have you no idea what it is?” 

“None, sir. She seemed to intimate that she came 
every year.” 

“Good. Don’t try to form any, my young friend. It 
would not be a pleasant secret, even for you to hold!” 

He rose as he spoke, nodded, and went out, leaving 
Austin Olay in a state of puzzled bewilderment. It was 
not lessened when, an hour later, Austin encountered Dr. 
Bevary’s close carriage driving rapidly along the street, 
the doctor inside it, and Miss Gwinn seated beside him. 


CHAPTER V. 

“Oh^ Mary, I cannot get up; I cannot go. I shall 
never rise from my bed again.” 

The tears of Mary Baxendale fell fast at the words; her 
mother had been ailing for eight or nine months — had 
been very ill for two or three. Mr. Rice, the apothe- 
cary, who was the general attendant in Daffodil’s Delight 
— a place of which, and its residents, we shall have some- 
thing to say before long — had given her medicine, and 
told her to eat well and get up her strength. But some- 
how the strength and the appetite did not come, and, 
now that she was worse, she bethought herself of doing 
what she ought to have done at first — consult Dr. Bevary. 


47 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 

From half-past eight to ten, three mornings a week. 
Dr. Be vary gave advice gratis. Mrs. Baxendale fixed 
with Mary a certain Thursday morning on which she 
would go to him, but, on attempting to rise, she found 
her weakness too great. It really was so. To get up and 
dress was all but an impossibility. 

What is to be done?’"' sobbed Mary. 

OouldnT you wait upon him, child, and describe my 
symptoms urged Mrs. Baxendale, after weighing over 
the dilemma in her mind. “ It might do as well. Per- 
haps he can write for me. Tell him, with my duty, I am 
not equal to it.’"’ 

Mary did not like the expedition, though she prepared 
instantly to obey it. Mrs. Baxendale was a superior 
woman for her station in life, and had brouglit up her 
daughter to be implicitly dutiful. Mary would have gone 
into a sea of fire to benefit her mother; but it seemed a 
formidable task, the going to explain ailments to this 
great physician, familiar and pleasant man though he was, 
and would nod good-humoredly to Mary if he met her in 
the street. 

She proceeded to Dr. Bevary’s, waited her turn to go 
in, and tlien timidly told her tale. 

Ah! a return of the old weakness that she had years 
ago,^’ remarked the doctor. I told her she must be 
careful. .Too ill to get up? Why did she not come to 
me before.^^ 

^'I suppose, sir, she did not much like to trouble you, 
responded Mary. She has been hoping from week to 
week that Mr. Rice would do her good,” 

^^/canT do her good unless I see her,” cried the doc- 
tor. “ I might prescribe just the wrong thing, you 
know.” 

Mary choked down her tears. I am afraid, then, she 
must die, sir. She said this morning she thought she 
should never get up from her bed again.” 

^^I'll step round some time to-dav, and see,” said 
Dr. Bevary. But, now, don’t you go chattering that to 
the whole parish. I sliould have every sick soul in it ex- 
pecting me, as a right, to call and visit them. He 
laughed pleasantly at Mary as he spoke, and she departed 
with a glad heart. 

Not home yet. As she reached Daffodil’s Delight, she 


48 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


(lid not turn into it, but continued her way to tlie lionso 
of Mrs. Hunter. Mary Baxendale took in plain sewing, 
and bad some in hand at present from that lady. She 
inquired for Dobson. Dobson was Mrs. Hunter^s own 
maid, and a very consequential one. 

Hot able to get Miss Hunter^’s night-dresses home on 
Saturday grumbled Dobson. ^‘"But you must, Mary 
Baxendale. You promised.'’^ 

‘M should not have promised had I known that my 
mother would have got worse, said Mary. A sick per- 
son requires a deal of waiting on, and tlieiVs only me. 
Idl do what I can to get them home next week, if that 
will do.^^ 

^‘I don’t know that it will do,” snapped Dobson. 

Miss Florence may be wanting them. A promise is a 
promise, Mary Baxendale.” 

Yes, it will do, Mary,” cried Florence Hunter, dart- 
ing forward from some forbidden nook, whence she had 
lieard the colloquy. 

A fair sight was that child to look upon, with her 
white muslin dress, her blue ribbons, her flowing hair, 
and her sweet countenance, radiant as a summer’s morn- 
ing. 

Mamma is not down-stairs yet, or I would ask her; 
but I know I do not want them. Never you mind them, 
and never mind Dobson, either, but nurse your mother.” 

Dobson drew the young lady back, asking her if such 
behavior was not enough to scandalize the square;” and 
Mary Baxendale returned home. 

Dr. Bevary paid his visit to Mrs. Baxendale about mid- 
day. His practiced eye saw with certainty what others 
were only beginning to suspect — that death had marked 
her. There would be mourning in the house ere another 
month should come. The doctor said nothing then of 
the danger: time enough for that. He wrote a prescrip- 
tion, gave some general directions, said he would call 
again, and told Mrs. Baxendale she would be better out 
of be(] than in it. 

Accordingly, after his departure, she got up and went 
into the front room, which they made their sitting-room. 
But the exertion caused her to faint; she was certainly 
much worse than usual that day. John Baxendale was 
t" nbly concerned, and did not go back to his work after 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


49 


dinner. When the bustle was over, and she seemed pretty 
comfortable again, one of the young Shucks came up- 
stairs to announce that Mrs. Hunter^s maid was asking 
for Mary, and' little Miss Hunter was there, too, and said 
might she come up and see Mrs. Baxendale? 

Both were requested to walk up. Dobson had brought 
a gracious message from her mistress (not graciously de- 
livered tliough) that the sewing might wait till it was 
quite convenient to do it, and Florence produced a jar, 
which she had insisted upon carrying herself, and had 
thereby split her gray kid gloves, it being too large for 
her hands. 

It is black currant jell}^, Mrs. Baxendale,” she said, 
with the prettiest, kindest air, as she freely sat herself 
down by the sick woman^s side. “I asked mamma to 
let me bring some, for I remember when I was ill I only 
liked black currant jelly. Mamma is so sorry to hear you 
are worse, and she will come to see you soon.” 

Bless your little heart. Miss Florence! The same 
dear child as ever; thinking of other people, and not of 
yourself.” 

I have not got anything to think of for myself of 
that sort,” laughed Florence. Everything I want is 
got ready for me. I wish you did not look so ill, I wish 
you would have my Uncle Bevary to see you. He cures 
everybody.” 

He has been kind enough to come around to-day, 
miss,” spoke up John Baxendale, ^^and heJl come again, 
he says. I hope he^ll be able to do the missis good. As 
you be a bit better,” he added to his wife, I think Fll 
go back to my work.” 

Ay, do, John. There^s no cause for you to stay at 
home. It was some sort of weakness, I suppose, that 
came over me.” 

Florence turned to the window to watch his departure, 
ever restless, as a healthy child is apt to be. There’s 
Uncle Henry!” she called out. 

Mr. Henry Hunter was walking raj)idly down Daffo- 
dil’s Delight. He encountered Jolin Baxendale as he 
went out of his gate. 

Not back to work yet, Baxendale?” 

'I'he missis has been taken worse, sir,” was the man’s 
re])ly. ^SShe fainted dead off just now, and I declar'^ 1 


50 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


didn^t know wliat to think "about her. She^s all right 
again, and I am going round.” 

At that moment there was a tapping at the window 
panes, and a pretty little head nodding and laughing, 
''Uncle Henry! How do you do. Uncle Henry?” 

Mr. Henry Hunter nodded in reply, and pursued his 
way, unconscious that the lynx eyQ of Miss Gwinn was 
following him, like a hawk watching its prey. 

It happened that she had penetrated Daffodihs Delight, 
hoping to catch Austin Clay at his dinner, which she 
supposed he might be taking about that hour. She held 
his address at Peter Quale’sfrorn Mrs. Thornimett. Her 
object was to make further efforts to get from him what 
he knew of the man she sought to find. Scarcely had 
she turned into DaffodiPs Delight, when she saw Mr. 
Henry Hunter at a distance. Away she tore after him, 
and gained upon him considerably. She reached the 
house of John Baxendale just as he> Baxendale, was re- 
entering it; for he had forgotten something he.must take 
with him to the yard. Turning her head upon Baxen- 
dale for a minute as she passed. Miss Gwinn lost sight of 
Mr. Henry Hunter. 

How had he disappeared? Into the ground? or into a 
house? or down any obscure passage that might be a 
short cut between DaffodiPs Delight and some other De- 
light? or into that cab that was now whirling onward at 
such a rate? That he was no longer visible was certain; 
and Miss Gwinn waxed exceeding wroth. She came to 
the conclusion that he had seen her,. and hid himself in. 
a cab, though she had not heard it stop. 

But she had seen him spoken to from the window of 
that house where the workman had just gone in, and she 
determined to make inquiries there. In the Shucks^ 
kitchen there were only three or four young children, and 
she found her way up-stairs. 

John Baxendale was on his knees, hunting among some 
tools at the bottom of a closet; Mary was meekly ex- 
hibiting the progress of the nightgowns to Dobson, who 
sat in state, sour enough to turn milk into curd; the in- 
valid was lying pale, in her chair; while the young lady 
appeared to be assisting at the tool-hunting, on her knees, 
chattering as fast as her tongue could go. All looked up 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


51 


at the apparition of the stranger, who stood there gazing 
in upon them. 

Can you tell me where a gentleman of the name of 
Lewis lives?"’ she began, in an indirect diplomatic sort of 
way, for she deemed it well to discard violence for tact. 
In the humor she was in yesterday, she would have said: 
“Tell me the name of that man I saw now pass your 
gate.” 

John Baxendale rose. 

“ Lewis, ma’am? 1 don’t know anybody of the name.” 
A pause. 


“ It is very unfortunate,” she mildly resumed. “ I am 
in search of the gentleman, and have lost his address. I 
believe he belongs to this neighborhood. Indeed, I was 
almost sure I saw him talking to }'ou just now at the gate 
— though my sight is none of the clearest from a dis- 
tance. The same gentleman to whom the young lady 
nodded.” 

“ That was my uncle Henry,” called out the child. 

“Who?” cried she, sharply. 

“It was Mr. Henry Hunter, ma’am, that was,” spoke 
up Baxendale. 

“'Mr. Henry Hunter!” she repeated, in douht, as she 
knit her brow. “ That gentleman is Mr. Lewis.” 

“ Ho, that he is not,” said John Baxendale. “ I ought 
to know, ma’am; I have worked for him some years.” 

Here the mischief might have ended; but that busy lit- 
tle tongue — ah! what work they make — began clapping 
again. 

“ Perhaps you mean my papa. Papa’s name is Lewis 
— James Lewis Hunter. But he is never called Mr. 
Lewis; he is brother to my uncle Henry.” 

A wild flush of crimson flashed over Miss Hwinn’s sal- 
low face. Something within her seemed to whisper that 
her search was over. 

“ It is possible I mistook the one for the other in the 
distance,” she observed, all her new diplomacy in full 
play. “Are they alike in person?” she continued to 
Jolin Baxendale. 

“ Not so much alike now, ma’am. In years gone by 
they were the very model of one another; but Mr. Hun- 
ter has grown fat, and it has altered him, Mr. Henry 
looks just like what Mr. Hunter used to look.” 


52 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


And who are yon, did yon say?” she asked of Flor- 
ence, with wild emphasis. Mr. Lewis Hunter’s daugh- 
ter?” 

Of course I am,” said Miss Florence. 

And — you have a mother?” 

Of course I have,” repeated the child. 

A pause: the lady looked at John Baxendale. 

‘^Then Mr. Lewis Hunter is married!” 

^^To be sure he is,” said John. ^‘^Ever so many years 
ago. Miss Florence is twelve.” 

Thank yon,” said Miss Gwinn, abruptly. And as 
she descended the stairs, she laughed inwardly. What 
a mistake to make! If that one had lost his life in the 
gravel pits, he would have died an innocent man.” 

Away to the yard now, as fast as her legs could carry 
her. In turning in, she ran against Austin Clay. 

‘^I want to speak with Mr. Hunter,” she imperiously 
said. ^^Mr. Lewis Hunter — not the one I saw in the 
gig-'' 

Mr. Hunter is out. Miss Gwinn,” was Austin’s reply. 
^^We do not expect him back at the yard to-day; he will 
not be home in time.” 

‘^Boy! you are deceiving me!” 

Indeed I am not,” he returned. ‘‘Why should I 
deceive you ? Mr. Hunter is not in the habit of being 
denied to people. You might have spoken to him yester- 
day when you saw him, had it pleased you to do so.” 

“ I never saw him yesterday.” 

“Yes, you did. Miss Gwinn. That gentleman who 
came into the office and bowed to you, was Mr. Hunter.” 

She stared Austin full in the face, as if unable to 
believe what he said. 

“ That Mr. Hunter? — Mr. Lewis Hunter?” 

“It was.” 

“Mercy, hoiu he is altered!” And, throwing up her 
arms with a strange, wild gesture, she turned and strode 
out of the yard again. 

The house of Mr. Hunter was one of the best in the 
square. Ascending to it by a flight of steps, and passing 
through a pillared portico, you found yourself in a hand- 
some hall, paved in imitation of mosaic. Two spacious 
sitting-rooma were on the left, the front one was used as 
a dining-room, the other opened to a conservatory. On 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


53 


the right of the hall, a broad flight of stairs led to the 
apartments above, one of which was a fine drawing-room, 
fitted up with costly elegance. 

On the evening of the day spoken of above, Mr. and 
Mrs. Hunter were seated in the dining-room; Florence 
was there likewise, but not seated; it may be questioned 
if she ever did sit except when compelled. Dinner was 
over, but they frequently made this their evening sitting- 
room. The drawing-room up-stairs was grand, the room 
behind was dull; this was cheerful, and looked out on the 
square. Especially clieerful it looked on this evening, 
for a fire had been lighted in the grate, and it cast a 
warm glow around in the fading twilight. 

Austin Clay had called. He was shown in, and invited 
to a seat by the fire, near Mrs. Hunter. He had come 
in obedience to orders from Mr. Hunter, issued to him 
when he, Mr. Hunter, had been going out that morning. 
His journey had been connected with certain buildings 
then in process, and he thought he might have directions 
to give with respect to the following morning^s early 
work. 

A few minutes given by Austin and his master to busi- 
ness matters, and then Austin turned to Mrs, Hunter. 
Unusually delicate she looked as she half sat, half lay 
back in her chair, the fire-light playing on her features. 
Florence had dragged forth a stool, and was sitting on it 
in a queer sort of fashion, one leg under her, at Austin’s 
feet. He was a great favorite of hers, and she made no 
secret of the liking. 

You are not looking well this evening, ma’am,” he 
observed, in a gentle tone, to Mrs. Hunter. 

am not feeling well. I scarcely ever do feel well; 
never strong. I sometimes think, Mr. Olay, what a 
mercy it is that we are not permitted to foresee the 
future. If we could, some of us might be tempted to — 
to — ” she hesitated, and then went on in a lower tone — 

to pray that God might take us in youth.” 

The longer we live the more we become impressed 
with the wonderful wisdom in the ordering of all things,” 
replied Austin. My years have not been many, com- 
paratively speaking; but I see it always, and I shall see 
it more and more.” 

‘^The confirmed invalid, the man of care and sorrow, 


54 


I A LIFERS SECRET. 


the incessant battle for existence with those reduced to 
extreme poverty — had they seen their future, as in a 
mirror, how could they liave borne to enter upon it? 
And yet, I have heard people exclaim, ^ How I wisti I 
could foresee my destiny, and what is to happen to me!’'^ 

‘‘But the cares and ills of the world do not come near 
you, Mrs. Hunter,’^ spoke Austin, after a pause of thought. 

Mrs. Hunter smiled. 

“ From the cares and crosses of the world, as we gen- 
erally estimate cares and crosses, I am free. God has 
spared them to me. He does not overwhelm us with ills; 
if one ill is particularly our portion, we are generally 
spared from another. Mine lies in my want of health; I 
am rarely free from pain and suffering. 

“ What should we do if all the ills came to us, mamma?"’ 
cried Florence, who had been still, and was listening. 

“My dear, if all the ills came to us, God would show 
us a way to bear them. You know what He has prom- 
ised; and His promises cannot fail.” 

“ Olay,” cried Mr. Hunter, resuming his seat, for he 
had been in another part of the room, “ did any one in 
particular call and want me to-day?” 

“ No, sir. Several people came, but Mr. Henry saw 
them. That — lady — who was there yesterday, came 
again. She asked for you.” 

A pause. Then Mr. Hunter spoke up sharply. 

“For my brother, you mean. She must have wanted 
him.” 

“ She certainly asked for you, sir. For Mr. Lewis 
Hunter.” 

Those little ears pricked themselves up; and their 
owner unceremoniously wheeled herself round on her 
stool, holding on by Austin’s knee, as she faced her 
father. 

“ There was a lady came up to John Baxendale’s to- 
day, when I and Dobson were there, and she asked for 
Mr. Lewis Hunter. At least — it was the funniest thing, 
papa! — she saw Uncle Henry talking to John Baxendale, 
and she came up and said he was Mr. Lewis, and asked 
where he lived. John Baxendale said it was Mr. Henry 
Hunter, and she said no, it was not Mr. Henry Hunter, 
it was Mr. Lewis. So then we found out that she had 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


S5 


mistaken him for you, and that it was you she wanted. 
Who was she, papa?^' 

‘‘She — she — her business was with Henry,” spoke Mr. 
Hunter, in so confused, so startled a sort of tone, not as 
if answering the child, more as if defending himself to 
any one who might be around, that Austin looked up in- 
voluntarily. His face had grown lowering and angry, 
and he moved his position so that his wife's gaze should 
not fall upon it. Austin's did, though. 

At that moment there was heard a knock and ring at 
the house door, announcing a visitor. Florence, much 
addicted to acting upon natural impulse, and thereby 
getting into constant hot water wdth her governess, who 
assured her nothing could be more unbefitting a young 
lady, quitted her stool and flew to the window. By dint 
of flattening her nose, and crushing her curls against a 
corner of one of its panes, she contrived to obtain a 
partial view of the visitor. 

“ Oh, dear! 1 hoped it was Uncle Bevary. Mamma's 
always better when he comes, to tell her she is not so ill 
as she thinks. Papa, I do believe it is that same lady 
who came to John Baxendale's. She is as tall as a 
house.” 

What possessed Mr. Hunter? He started up; he sprung 
half way across the room, hesitated there, and glided 
back again. Glided stealthily as it were; and stealthily 
touching Austin Olay, motioned him to follow him. His 
hands were trembling, and the dark frown, full of em- 
barrassment, was still upon his features. Mrs. Hunter 
noticed nothing unusual; the apartment was shaded in 
twilight, and she sat with her head turned to the fire. 

“ Go to that woman, Olay!” came forth in a whisper 
from Mr. Hunter's compressed lips, as he drew Austin 
outside the room. “ I cannot see her; I will not see her. 
You go.” 

“What am I to say?” questioned Austin, feeling sur- 
prised and bewildered. 

“Anything — anything. Only keep her from me.” 

He turned back into the room as he spoke, and closed 
the door softly, for Miss Gwinn was already in the hall. 
The servant had said his master was at home, and was 
conducting her to him. Austin thought he heard Mr, 


5(5 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


Hunter slip the bolt of the dining-room as he walked 
forward to receive Miss Gwinn. 

Not there, Mark!^^ Austin spoke hastily to the serv- 
ant, arresting the man^s footsteps. ‘^Miss Gwinn,” he 
courteously added, presenting himself before her, Mr. 
Hunter is unable to see you this evening.” 

^^Who gave you authority to interfere, Austin Clay?” 
was the response, not in a raving, angry tone, but in one 
of cold, concentrated determination. ‘‘1 demand an in- 
terview with Lewis Hunter. That he is at home I know, 
for I saw him through the window, in the reflection of 
the firelight, as I stood onlhe steps; and here I will re- 
main until I obtain speech of him, be it till to-morrow 
morning, be it till days to come. Do you note my words, 
meddling boy? I demand the interview; I do not crave 
it; he best knows by what right.” 

She sat herself down on one of the hall chairs. Austin, 
almost at a loss what to do,. and seeing no means of get- 
ting rid of her save by forcible expulsion, knocked gently 
at the room door again. Mr. Hunter threw it cautiously 
open to admit him; then slipped the bolt, entwined his 
arm within Austin^s, and drew him to the window. 

‘^She has taken a seat in the hall, sir,” he whispered, 
^‘and says she will remain there till she sees you, even 
should it be till the morning. I am sure she means it, 
and that stop there she will. She says she demands the 
interview, of right.” 

No,” said Mr. Hunter, she possesses no right. But 
— perhaps I had better see her, and get it over; otherwise 
she will make a disturbance. Tell Mark to show her 
into the drawing-room. Clay; and you stop here and talk 
to Mrs. Hunter.” 

‘"What is the matter, that you are whispering? Does 
any one want you?” interrupted Mrs. Hunter. And her 
husband turned round, glib words upon his. tongue. 

“I am telling Clay that people have no right to come 
to my private house on business matters; however, as the 
person is here, I must see her, I suppose. Do not let 
us be interrupted, Louisa.” 

“ But what does she want? — it was a lady, Florence 
said. Who is she?” reiterated Mrs. Hunter. 

“ It is a matter of business of Henryks. She ought to 
have gone to him.” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


r>7 

Mr. Hunter looked at his wife and at Austin as he spoke. 
The latter was leaving the room to do his bidding. 

A full hour did tlie interview last. The voices seemed 
occasionally to be raised in anger, so that the sound pene- 
trated to their ears down-stairs, from the room overhead. 
Mrs. Hunter grew impatient; the tea waited on the ta- 
ble, and she wanted it. At length they were heard to 
descend, and to cross the hall. 

“He is showing her out himself!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Hunter. “ Will you tell him we are waiting tea, Mr. 
Clay?” 

Austin stepped in the hall and started when he caught 
sight of the face of Mr. Hunter. He was turning back 
from closing the door on Miss Gwinn, and the bright 
rays of the hall lamp fell full upon it. It was of ghastly 
whiteness; its expression as one living aspect of terror, 
of dread. He staggered, rather than walked, to a chair, 
and sunk into it. Austin hastened to him. 

“Oh, sir, what is it? You are ill!” 

Tlie strong man, the proud master, calm hitherto in 
his native self respect, was for the moment overcome. 
He leaned his forehead upon Austin's arm, hiding his 
pallor. 

“I have had a stab. Clay. Bear with me in silence, 
lad, fora minute. I have had a cruel stab.” 

Austin did not really know whether to take the words 
literally. 

“A stab!” he hesitatingly repeated. 

“Ay. Here,” touching his heart. “I wish I was 
dead, Clay. I wish I had 'died years ago, or that she 
had. Why was she permitted to live to work me this 
awful wrong?” he dreamily wailed. “An awful wrong 
to me and mine! And it is that woman who has done it 
all.” 

He arose and appeared to be looking for his hat. 

“ Mrs. Hunter is waiting tea, sir,” said the amazed 
Austin. 

“Tea!” repeat’ed Mr. Hunter, as if his brain were be- 
wildered; “I cannot go in again to-night; I cannot see 
them. Make some excuse for me. Clay— anything. 
Why did that woman work me this crying wrong?” 

He took his hat, opened the hall door, and shut it 


58 A LIFE'S SECRET. 

after him with a bang, leaving Austin in wondering con- 
sternation. 

Later in the evening, as Austin was going home, ho 
passed a piece of clear ground, to be let for building pur- 
poses, at the end of the square. There, in its darkest 
corner, far back from the road, paced a man as if in some 
mental agony, his hat carried in liis hand, and his head 
bared to the winds. Austin peered through the niglit 
with his quick sight, and recognized Mr. Hunter. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Dafkodil^s Delight was in a state of commotion. It 
has been often remarked that there exists more real sym- 
pathy between tiie working-classes, one for the other, 
than amongst those of a higher grade; and circumstances 
seem to bear it out. From one end of Daffodil's Delight 
to the other there ran just now a deep feeling of sorrow, 
of pity, of commiseration. Men made inquiries of each 
other as they passed in the street; women congregated at 
their doors to talk, concern on their faces, a question on 
their lips, “ How is she? What does the doctor say?’^ 

Yes; the excitement had its rise in once cause alone — 
the increased illness of Mrs. Baxendale. The physician 
had pronounced his fiat (little need to speak it, though, 
for the fact was only too apparent to all who used their 
eyes), and the news had gone forth to Daffodil’s Delight 
— Mrs. Baxendale was past recovery; was, in fact, dying! 

The concern, universal as it was, showed itself in vari- 
ous ways. Visits and neighborly calls were so incessant, 
that the Shucks openly rebelled at the ‘^trampling up 
and down through their living-room,’^ by which route 
the Baxendale apartments could alone be gained. The 
neighbors came to help, to nurse; to shake up the beds 
and pillows; to prepare condiments over the fire; to con- 
dole and to gossip — with tears in their eyes and lamenta- 
tions in their tones, and ominous shakes of the head, and 
uplifted hands; but still to gossip — that lies in human 
female nature. They brought offerings of savory deli- 
cacies, or things that, in their ideas, stood for delicacies 
— dainties likely to tempt the sick. Mrs. Cheek made a 
pint jug of what she called ‘^butter beer,’^ a miscellane- 
ous compound of scalding-hot porter, gin, eggs, sugar. 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


59 


and spice. Mrs. Baxendale sipped a little; but it did not 
agree with her palate, and she declined it for the future, 
with thanks, all the satne,’^ and Mrs. Cheek and a 
crony or two disposed of it themselves with great satis- 
faction. All this served to prove two things — that good 
feeling ran high in DaflodiTs Delight, and that means 
did not run low. 

Of all the visitors, the most effectual assistant was Mrs. 
Quale. She gossiped, it is true, or it had not been Mrs. 
Quale; but she gave efficient help; and the invalid was 
always glad too see her come in, which could not be said 
with regard to all. Daffodil’s Delight was not wrong in 
the judgment it passed upon Mary — that she was a “poor 
creature."” True: poor as to being clever in a domestic 
point of view, or in attending upon the sick. In mind, 
in cultivation, in refinement, in gentleness, Mary Baxen- 
dale beat Daffodil’s Delight hollow; she was also a beauti- 
ful seamstress; but in energy and capability Mary was 
sadly wanting. She was timid always — painfully timid 
in the sickroom; anxious to do for her mother all that 
was requisite, but scarcely knowing how to set about it. 
Mrs. Quale remedied this; she did the really efficient 
part; Mary gave love and gentleness; and, between the 
two, Mrs. Baxendale was thankful and happy. 

John Baxendale, not a demonstrative man, was full of 
concern and grief. His had been a very happy home, free 
from domestic storms and clouds; and to lose his "wife 
was anything but a cheering prospect. His wages were 
.good, and they had wanted for nothing, not even for 
peace. To such, when trouble comes, it seems hard to 
bear — it almost seems as if it came as a lurong. 

“Just hold your tongue, John Baxendale,’^ cried Mrs. 
Quale one day, upon hearing him express something to 
this effect. “ Because you never had no crosses, is it 
any reason that you never shall? No. Crosses are sure 
to come to us all sometimes in our lives, in one shape or 
other. 

“ But iCs a liard thing for it to come in this shape,’' 
retorted Baxendale, pointing to the bed. “ Fm not re- 
pining or rebelling against what it pleases God to do; but 
I can’t see the end of it. Look at some of the other 
wives in Daffodil’s Delight; shrieking, raving trollops, 
turning their homes into a bear-garden with their tern- 


60 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


pers, and driving their husbands almost mad. If some 
of them were taken they’d never be missed; just the con- 
trary.” 

‘'"John,” interposed Mrs. Baxendale, in her quiet voice, 

when I am gone up tliere ’’—pointing with her finger 
to the blue October sky — it may make you think more 
of the time when you must come; may help you to work 
on a little for it, better than you have done.” 

Mary lifted her wan face, glowing now with the ex- 
citement of the thought. Father, that may be the end. 
I think that God does send troubles in mercy, not in 
anger.” 

Think?” ejaculated Mrs. Quale, tossing back her 
head with a manner less reverent than her words. Be- 
fore you shall have come to my age, girl, it’s to be 
hoped you’ll know He does. Isn’t it time for the medi- 
cine?” 

She poured it out, raised the invalid from her pillow, 
and administered it. John Baxendale looked on. ^^How 
long is it since Dr. Bevary was here?” he asked. 

“Let’s see!” responded Mrs. Quale, who liked to have 
most of the talking to herself, where ter she might be; 
“this is Friday; Tuesday, wasn’t it, Mary? Yes, he was 
here on Tuesday.” 

“ But why does he not come oftener?” cried John in a 
tone of resentment. “ When one is ill as she is — in dan- 
ger of dying — is it right that a doctor should never come 
a- near for three or four days?” 

“Oh, John! a great physician like Dr. Bevary!’' re- 
monstrated his wife. “ It is very good of him to come at 
all. And for nothing, too! he as good as said to Mary he 
didn’t mean to charge.” 

“I can pay him; I’m capable of paying him, I hope,” 
spoke John Baxendale. “ Who said I wanted my wife to 
be doctored out of charity?” 

“ It’s not just that, father, I think,” said Mary. “ He 
comes more in a friendly way.” 

“Friendly or not, it isn’t come to pass yet, that I can’t 
pay a doctor,” said John Baxendale. And, taking up his 
hat, he went out. 

Bending his steps to Dr. Bevary’s, there he was civil 
and humble enough, for John Baxendale was courteous 
by nature. The doctor was at home, and saw him. 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


61 


Listen, my good man,” said Dr. Bevary, when he had 
caught somewhat of his errand. If, by going round 
often, I could do any good to your wife, I should go; 
twice a day, three times a day — by night, too, if neces- 
sary. But I cannot do her good; had she a doctor over 
her bed constantly, he could render no service. I step 
round now and then, because I see that it is a satisfac- 
tion to her, and to those about her; not for anything 1 
can do. I told you a week ago the end was not far off, 
and that she would meet it calmly; she will be in no 
further pain; no worse than she is now.” 

I am able to pay you, sir.” 

^^That is not the question. If you paid me a guinea 
every time I came round, I should visit her no more fre- 
quently than I do.” 

And, if you please, sir, I\1 rather pay you,” contin- 
ued the man. ^‘I"m sure I don’t grudge it; and it goes 
against the grain to have it said John Baxendale’s wife 
is attended out of charity. We English workmen, sir, 
are independent, and are proud of being so.” 

‘^Very good,” said Dr. Bevary. "^I should be sorry 
to see the day come when English workmen lost their 
independence. As to ^charity,’ we will talk a bit about 
that. Look here, Baxendale,” the doctor added, laying 
his hand upon his shoulder, ^^you and I can speak rea- 
sonably together, as man to man. We both have to work 
for our living — you with the hands, and I chiefly with 
the head — so, in that, we are equal. I go twice a week 
to see your wife; I have told you why it is useless to go 
oftener. When patients come to me, they pay me a 
guinea, and I see them twice for it, which is equivalent 
to half a guinea a visit; but, when I go to patients at 
their own houses, my fee is a guinea each time. Now, 
would it seem to you a neighborly act that I should take 
two guineas weekly from your wages — quite as much, or 
more, than you gain. What does my going round cost 
me? A few minutes’ time, a touch of your wife’s pulse; 
sometimes a few words written on a piece of paper fur- 
nished by Mary; a gossip with Mrs. Quale, touching the 
doings of Daffodil’s Delight, and a groan at those thrift- 
less Shucks, in their pig-sty of a room. That is the 
plain statement of facts; and I should like to know what 
there is in it that need put your English spirit up. 


m 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


Charity! We might call it by that name, John Baxen- 
dale, if I were the guinea each time out of pocket, 
through medicines or other things furnished to youJ^ 

John Baxendale smiled; but he looked only three parts 
convinced. 

‘‘Tush, manT^ said the doctor; I may be asking you 
to do me some friendly service one of these days, and then, 
you know, we shall be quits. Ah, John! folks don’t get 
to heaven by being hard upon their neighbors; take you 
note of that.^^ 

John Baxendale half put out his hand, and the doctor 
shook it. 

“ I think I understand now, sir, and I thank you 
heartily for what you have said. I only wish you could 
do some good to the wife.^^ 

“I wish I could, Baxendale,^’ he called out, throwing 
a merry glance at the man as he was moving away. “ I 
sha'nT bring an action against you in the county court 
for these unpaid fees, Baxendale, for it wouldnT stand. 
I never was called in to see your wife; I went of my own 
accord, and have so continued to go, and shall so continue. 
Good-da}^’' 

John Baxendale was descending the steps of the house 
door, when he encountered Mrs. Hunter. She stopped 
him to inquire after his wife. 

“ Getting weaker daily, ma^am, thank you. The doctor 
has just told me again that there is no hope.’’ 

“J am truly sorry to hear it," said Mrs. Hunter. “ I 
will call in and see her. 1 did intend to call before, but 
something or other has caused me to put it off." 

John Baxendale touched his hat, and departed. Mrs. 
Hunter went in to her brother. 

“Oh, IS it you, Louisa?" he exclaimed. “A visit from 
you is somewhat a rarity. Are you feeling worse?" 

“ Rather better, I think, than usual. I liave just met 
John Baxendale," continued Mrs. Hunter, sitting down 
and untying her bonnet strings; “he says there is no 
hope of his wife. Poor woman! I wish it had been dif- 
ferent; many a worse woman could have been belter 
spared." 

“Ah," said the doctor, drawing his mouth aside, “if 
folks were taken according to our notions of whom might 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


68 


be best spared what a world this might be! Whereas 
Florence 

I did not bring her out with me, Robert. I cam© 
round to say a word to you about James, resumed Mrs. 
Hunter, her voice insensibly lowering itself to a tone of 
confidence. “Something is the matter with him; and I 
cannot imagine what.” 

“ Been eating too many cucumbers again, no doubt,” 
cried the doctor; “ he will go in at that cross-grained 
vegetable, let it be in season or out.” 

“ Eating!” returned Mrs. Hunter; “ I wish he did eat. 
For at least a fortnight — more, 1 think — he has not eaten 
enough to support a bird. That he is ill, is evident to 
all — must be evident; but when I ask him what is the 
matter, he persists in it that he is quite well; that I am 
fanciful; is annoyed, in short, that I should allude to 
it. Has he been here to consult you?” 

“No,” replied Dr. Bevary; “ this is the first I have 
heard of it. How does he seem? What are his symp- 
toms?” 

“ It appears to me,” said Mrs. Hunter, almost in a 
whisper, “ that the malady is more on the mind. There 
is no palpable disorder. He is restless, nervous, agitated; 
so restless at night, that he has now taken to sleep in a 
room apart from mine — not to disturb me, he says. I 
fear — I fear he may have been attacked with some dan- 
gerous inward malady, which he is concealing. His 
father, you know, died of ” 

“Nonsense, Louisa! you are indeed becoming fanci- 
ful,” interrupted the doctor. Old Mr. Hunter died of 
an unusual disorder, I admit; but, if the symptoms of 
such appeared in either James or Henry, they would 
come galloping to. me in hot haste, asking if my skill 
could suggest a preventive. It is no ^ inward malady,^ 
depend upon it. He has been smoking too much; or 
eating too much cucumber. When did you first notice 
him to be ill?” 

“ It is, I say, about a fortnight since. One evening 
there came a stranger to our house, a lady, and she loould 
see him. He did not want to see her; he sent young 
Clay to her, who happened to be with us; but she insisted 
upon seeing James. They were closeted together a long 


64 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


while, before she left; and then James went out — on 
business, Mr. Clay said.” 

Well?” cried Dr. Bevary. ^^What has the lady to 
do with it?” 

I am not sure that she has anything to do with it. 
James said she had come on Henry’s business, not his. 
Florence told an incomprehensible story about the lady’s 
having gone into Baxendale’s that afternoon, after see- 
ing her Uncle Henry in the street and mistaking him 
for James. A Miss — what was the name? — Gwinn, I 
think.” 

Dr. Bevary, who happened to have a small glass vial 
in his hand, let it fall to the ground; whether by inad- 
vertence, or that the words startled him, he best knew. 

Well?” was all he repeated, after he had gathered 
the pieces in his hand. 

I waited up till twelve o’clock, and Janies never came 
in. I heard him let himself in afterward with his latch- 
key, and come up into the dressing-room; I called out to 
know where he had been, it is so unusual for him to stay 
out, and he said, ^Only on a little business,’ and that I 
was to go to sleep, for he had some writing to do. But, 
Robert, instead of writing, he was pacing the house all 
night, out of one room into another; and in the morning 
— oh, I wish you could have seen him — he looked wild, 
wan, haggard, as one does who has got up out of a long 
illness; and I am positive he had been weeping. From 
that time I have noticed the change I tell you of; he 
seems like one going into his grave. But whether the ill- 
ness is upon the body or mind, I know not.” 

Dr. Bevary appeared intent upon putting together the 
pieces of his vial, making them fit into each other. 

‘‘It will all come right, Louisa; don’t fret yourself; 
something must have gone cross in his business. I’ll 
call in at the office and see him, and recommend some 
boluses.” 

“Do not say that I have spoken to you; he seems to 
have quite a nervous dread of its being observed that 
anything is wrong with him; has spoken sharply, not in 
anger, but in anguish, when I have pressed the question. 
You can see what you think of him, and tell me after- 
ward.” 

The answer was only a nod; and Mrs. Hunter went 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


65 


ont. Dr. Bovary remained in a brown study. His serv- 
ant came in with an account that patient after patient 
was waiting for him, but the doctor replied by a repelling 
gesture, and the man did not again dare intrude. Per- 
plexity and pain sat upon his brow; and, when at last he 
did rouse himself, he raised aloft his hands, and gave ut- 
terance to words that sounded very like a prayer. 

Pray Heaven it may not be so! It would kill 
Louisa.^^ 

The pale, delicate face of Mrs. Hunter was at that mo- 
ment bending over the invalid in her bed. In her soft, 
gray silk dress and light shawl, her simple straw bonnet 
with its white ribbons, she looked just the right sort of 
visitor for a sick-chamber; and her voice was sweet, and 
her manner gentle. 

^^No, ma^am, donT speak of hope to me,^^ murmured 
Mrs. Baxendale. I know that there is none left, and I 
am quite reconciled to die. I have been an ailing body 
for years, dear lady; and it is wonderful how those that 
are so get to look upon death with satisfaction, rather 
than with dread. 

I have long been ailing, too,^^ softly replied Mrs. 
Hunter. “ I am rarely free from pain, and I know that 
I shall never be healthy and strong again. But still — I 
do fear it would give me pain to die, were the fiat to come 
forth. 

Never fear, dear lady,^’ cried the invalid, her eyes 
brightening. ‘^Before the fiat does come, be assured 
that God will have reconciled you to it. Ah, ma'am, 
what matters it, after all? It is a journey we must take; 
and, if we are prepared, it is but the setting off a little 
sooner or a little later to our heavenly home. I got Mary 
to read me the burial service on Sunday; I was always 
fond of it, but I am past reading now. In one part 
thanks are given to God for that He has been pleased to 
deliver the dead out of the miseries of this sinful world. 
Ma^am, if He did not remove us to a better and a happier, 
would the living be directed to give thanks for our de- 
parture? That little bit of Scripture might alone teach 
us not to be afraid of death. ^ 

"'A spirit ripe for Heaven, thought Mrs. Hunter, 
when she took her leave. 

It was Mrs. Quale who piloted her through the room 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


6es 

of tlie Shucks. Of all the scenes of disorder and dis- 
comfort, about the worst reigned here. Sam had been 
— you must excuse the inelegance of the phrase, but it 
was much in vogue in Daffodil’s Delight — '‘on the 
loose ” again for a couple of days. He sat sprawling 
across the hearth, a pipe in his mouth and a pot of porter 
at his feet. The wife was crying with her hair down; 
the children were quarreling in tatters; the dirt in the 
place, as Mrs. Quale expressed it, stood on end, and Mrs. 
Hunter wondered how folks could bear to live so. 

"Now, Sam Shuck, don’t you see who is standing in 
your presence?” sharply cried Mrs. Quale. 

Sam, his back to the staircase door, had really not 
seen. He threw his pipe into the grate, started up, and 
pulled his hair to Mrs. Hunter in a very humble fashion, 
in his hurry he turned over a small child, and the con- 
tents of the pewter pot a-top of it. The child roared; 
the wife took it up and shook its clothes in Sam’s face, 
restraining her tongue till the lady should be gone; and 
Mrs. Hunter stepped into the garden out of the melee — 
glad to get there; Sam following her in a spirit of polite- 
ness. 

"How is it you are not at work to-day. Shuck?” she 
asked. 

"I am going - to-morrow; I shall go for certain, 
ma’am.” 

"You know, Shuck, I never do interfere with Mr. 
Hunter’s men,” said Mrs. Hunter. "I consider that in- 
telligent workmen, as you are, ought to be above any ad- 
vice tliat I could offer. But I cannot help saying how 
sad it is that you should waste your time. Were you not 
discharged a little while ago, and taken on again under a 
specific promise, made by you to Mr. Henry Hunter, 
that you would be diligent in future?” 

" 1 am diligent,” grumbled Sam. " But law, ma’am,' 
a chap must take holiday now and then. ’Taint in 
human nature to be always having the shoulder to the 
wheel.” 

" Well, be cautious,” said Mrs. Hunter. "If you of- 
fend again, and get discharged, I know they wilDnot be 
so ready to take you back. Remember your little chil- 
dren, and be steady for their sakes.” 

Sam went in-doors to his pipe, to his wife’s tongue, and 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


67 


to dispatch a child to get the pewter pot replenished. 
Mrs. Hunter stood listening to Mrs. Quale at her gate, 
who was astonishing her with the shortcomings of the 
Shucks, and prophesying that their destiny would be the 
workhouse, when Austin Clay came forth from his apart- 
ments, to return to the yard. 

Mrs. Hunter walked by his side; Mrs. Baxendalc, Sam 
Shuck, and Daffodirs Delight generally, forming themes 
of converse. Austin raised his hat to her when they 
came to the gates of the yard. 

‘‘No, I am not about to part; I am going in with 
you,^' said Mrs. Hunter. “ I want to speak just a word 
to my husband, if he is at liberty. Will you find him for 
me?’^ 

“ He has been in his private room all the morning, and 
is probably there still,” said Austin. 

He led the way down the passage, and knocked at the 
door, Mrs. Hunter following him. There was no an- 
swer; and believing, in consequence, that it was empty, 
he opened it. 

Two gentleman stood within it near a table, paper and 
pens and ink before them, and what looked like a check- 
book. They must have been deeply absorbed not to have 
heard, the knock. One was Mr. Hunter; the other — 
Austin recognized him — Gwinn, the lawyer, of Ketter- 
ford. “I will not sign it!” Mr. Hunter was exclaiming, 
with passionate vehemence. “Five thousand pounds! it 
would cripple me for life.” 

“ Then you know the alternative. I go this moment 
and ” 

“ Mrs. Hunter wishes to speak to you, sir,” interposed 
Austin, drowning the words and speaking loudly. The 
gentleman turned shar]Dly round; and when Mr. Hunter 
caught sight of his wife, the red passion of his face 
.turned to a livid pallor. 

Lawyer Gwinn nodded familiarly to Austin. 

“How are you, Clay? Getting on, I hope. Wlio is 
this person, may I ask?” 

“ This lady is Mrs. Hunter,” haughtily replied Austin, 
after a pause, surprised that Mr. Hunter did not take up 
the words — the offensive manner in which they were 
spoken — the insulting look that accompanied them. 
But Mr. Hunter did not appear in a state to take any- 


68 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


thing up then. He had backed to the wall, his ashy face 
leaning against it, and the cold drops of perspiration 
coursing down. 

Gwinn bent his body to the ground. I beg the lady^s 
pardon. I had no idea she was Mrs. Hunter. But so 
ultra courteous were the tones, so slow the bow, that 
Austin Clay^s cheeks burnt at the covert irony. 

James, you are ill,” said Mrs. Hunter, advancing in 
her quiet, lady-like manner, but taking no notice what- 
ever of the stranger. Can I get anything for you? 
Shall we send for Dr. Be vary?” 

It is but a spasm; it is going off. You will oblige 
me by leaving us,” he whispered to her. am very 

busy.” 

‘^You seem too ill for business,” she rejoined. ^^Cau 
you not put it off? Rest might be of service to you.” 

No, madam, the business cannot be put off,” spoke 
up Lawyer Gwinn. And down he sat in a chair, with a 
determined air of quiet power; something like his sister 
had sat herself down, a fortnight before, in Mr. Hunter^s 
hall. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Mrs. Hunter quitted the private room with Austin 
Clay, leaving her husband and the stranger in it. Her 
face wore a puzzled, vexed look, as she turned it upon 
Austin. 

Who was that person?” she asked. His manner to 
me appeared to be strangely insolent.” 

An instinct, for which Austin perhaps could not have 
accounted had he tried, caused him to suppress the fact 
that it was the brother of the Miss Gwinn who had raised 
a commotion at Mr. Hunter^s house. He answered eva- 
sively, that he had not seen the person at the office pre- 
viously. 

“Does Mr. Hunter appear to you to be ill?” she ab- 
ruptly asked. 

“He looked so, I think.” 

“ Not now; I am not alluding to the present moment,” 
she rejoined. “Have you noticed that he does not seem 
well?” 

Yes,” replied Austin; “ this week or two past.” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


69 


Tliere was a brief pause. Mr. Clay,” she resumed, 
in a quiet, kind voice, ‘^my health, as you are aware, is 
not good, and any sort of uneasiness tries me much. I 
am going to ask you a confidential question. I would 
not put it to many, and the asking it of you proves that 
my esteem for you is great. That Mr. Hunter is ill, 
there is no doubt; but, whether mentally or bodily, I am 
unable /to discover. To me he observes a most unusual 
reticence, his object probably being to spare me pain; 
but 1 can battle better with a known evil than an 
unknown one. Tell me, if you can, whether any vexa- 
tion has arisen in business matters?” 

Not that 1 am aware of,” promptly replied Austin. 

I feel sure that nothing is amiss in that quarter.” 

‘‘Then it is as I suspected; and he must be suffering 
from some illness that he is concealing.” 

She wished Austin good-morning, and he proceeded to 
the room he usually occupied when engaged in-doors. 
Presently he heard Mr. Hunter and his visitor come forth, 
and saw the latter pass the window. Mr. Hunter came 
into the room. 

“ Is Mrs. Hunter gone?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Do you know what she wanted?” 

“I do not think it was anything particular. She said 
she should like to say a word to you if you were disen- 
gaged.” 

Mr. Hunter did not speak again immediately. Austin 
was making out certain estimates, and his master looked 
over his shoulder. Not to look; his mind was evidently 
preoccupied. “ Did Mrs. Hunter inquire who it was that 
was with me?” he presently said. 

“She inquired, sir. I did not say — I merely said I had 
not seen the person here before.” 

“ Vote knew?” in a quick, sharp tone. 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ Then why did you not tell her? What was your mo- 
tive for concealing it?” 

The inquiry was uttered in a tone that could not be 
construed as proceeding from any emotion but that of 
fear. A fiush came into Austin^s ingenuous face. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir; I never wish to be otherwise 
than open. But, as you had previously desired me not 


^0 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


to speak of the lady who came to yonr })ouse that mght> 
I did not know but the same wish might apply to the 
visit of to-day/^ 

‘^Triie, true/’ murmured Mr. Hunter; “1 do not wish 
this visit- of the man spoken of. Never mention his name, 
especially to Mrs. Hunter. I suppose he did not impose 
upon me/’ added he, with a poor attempt at a forced 
smile; ‘Mt was Gwinn, of Ketterford, was it not?” 

‘‘Certainly,” said Austin, feeling surprised. “Did 
you not know him previously, sir?” 

“ Never; and I wish I had not known him now.” 

“ If — if — will you forgive my saying, sir, that, should 
you have any transaction with him touching money mat- 
ters, it is necessary to be wary; more than one^ has come 
to rue the getting into the clutches of Lawyer Gwinn.” 

A deep, heavy sigh burst from Mr. Hunter; he had 
turned from Austin. The latter spoke again in his ar- 
dent sympathy. 

“Sir, is there any way in which I can serve you — any 
way? You have only to command me.” 

“ No, no, Clay. I fell into that man’s clutches — as 
you ha^e aptly termed it— years ago: and the penalty 
must be paid. There is no help for it.” 

“Not knowing him, sir?” 

“Not knowing him. And not knowing that I owed 
it; as I certainly did not, until a week or two back. I 
no more suspected that — that I was indebted there, than 
that I was indebted to you.” 

He had again grown strangely confused and agitated, 
and the dew was rising on his livid face. He made a 
hollow attempt to laugh it off. 

“This comes of the freaks of young men. Austin 
Clay, I will give you a piece of advice. Never put your 
hand to a bill. You may think it an innocent bit of paper, 
which can cost you at most but the sum that is marked 
upon it; but it may come back to you in after years, and 
you must purchase it with tliousands. Have nothing to 
do witli bills, in any way; they will be a thorn in your 
side.” 

“ So it is a money affair!” though Austin. “ I might 
have known it was nothing else, where Gwinn was con- 
cerned. “ Here’s Dr. Bevary coming in, sir,” he added 
"loud. 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


n 


The physician was inside the room ere the words had 
left Austin^s mouth. 

‘‘Rather a keen-looking customer, that, whom I met 
at your gate,’’ began the doctor. “ Who was it?” 

“ Keen-looking customer?” repeated Mr. Hunter. 

“A fellow dressed in black, with a cross look in his 
eyes, with a white neckerchief, an ill-favored looking 
fellow, whoever he is.” 

“ IIow should I know about him,” replied Mr. Hunter, 
carelessly. But Austin Olay felt that Mr. Hunter did 
know; that the description could only apply to Gwinn, 
of Ketterford. Dr. Bevary entwined his arm within his 
brother-in-law’s, and led him from the room. 

“ James, do you want doctoring?” 

“ Ko, I don’t. What do you mean?” 

“If you don’t, you belie your looks; that’s all. Can 
you honestly affirm to me that you are in robust health?” 

“I am in good health. There is nothing the matter 
with me.” 

“ Then there is something else in the wind. What’s 
the trouble?” 

A flush rose to the face of Mr. Hunter. 

“I am in no trouble that you can relieve; I am quite 
well. I repeat that I do not understand your meaning.” 

The doctor gazed at him keenly, and his tone changed 
to one of solemn earnestness. 

“ James, I suspect that you are in trouble. Kow, I do 
not wish to pry into it unnecessarily; but I would re- 
mind you that, ‘ in the multitude of counselors there is 
safety.’ If you will confide it to me, I will do what I 
can to help you out of it — whatever it may he — to advise 
with you as to what is best to be done. I am your wife’s 
brother; could you have a truer friend?” 

“You are very kind, Bevary. I am in no danger. 
When I am, I will let you know.” 

The tone — one of playful mockery — grated on the ear 
of Dr. Bevary. 

“Is it assumed to hide what he dare not betray?” 
thought he. “ Well, a willful man must have his way.” 

Austin sat up late that night, reading one of the quar- 
terly reviews; he let the time slip by till the clock struck 
twelve. Mr. and Mrs. Quale, with whom he had taken 
boarding, had been in bed some time; when nothing was 


72 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


wanted for Mr. Clay, Mrs. Quale was rigid in retiring at 
ten. Early to bed, and early to rise, was a maxim she 
was fond of, both in precept and 2)ractice. The striking 
of the church clock aroused him; he closed the book and 
loft it on the table, pulled aside the crimson curtain, and 
opened the window to look out at the night, before going 
into his chamber. 

A still, balmy night. The stars shone in the heavens, 
and Daffodil’s Delight, for aught that could be heard or 
seen just then, seemed almost as peaceful as they. Austin 
leaned from the window; his thoughts ran not upon the 
stars or upon the peaceful scene around, but upon the 
curious trouble which had overshadowed Mr. Hunter. 

“ Five thousand pounds!” His ears had caught dis- 
tinctly the ominous sum. Could he have fallen into 
Lawyer Gwinn’s ^clutches’ to that extent?” 

There was much in it that Austin could not fathom. 
Mr. Hunter had hinted at '‘bills;” Miss Gwinn had 
spoken of the " breaking up of her happy home;” two 
calamities apparently distinct and apart. And how was 
it that they were in ignorance ‘of his name, his existence, 
his 

A startling interruption came to Austin’s thoughts. 
Mrs. Shuck’s door was pulled hastily open, and one, 
panting with excitement, uttering faint sobbing cries, 
came running down their garden into Peter Quale’s. It 
was Mary Baxendale, and she knocked sharply at the 
door with nervous quickness. 

"What is it, Mary?” asked Austin. 

She had not seen him; but, of course, the words caused 
her to look up. 

" Oh, sir,” the tears streaming from her eyes as she 
spoke, " would you please call Mrs. Quale, and ask her 
to step in. Mother’s on the wing.” 

"I’ll call her. Mary!” — for she was speeding back 
again — "can I get any other help for you? If I can 
be of use, come back and tell me.” 

Sam Shuck came out of his house as Austin spoke, and 
went flying up Daffodil’s Delight. He had gone for Dr. 
Bevary. The doctor had desired to be called, should 
there be any sudden change. Of course, he did not 
mean the change of death. He could be of no use in 
that; but how could they discriminate? 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


73 


Mrs. Quale was dressed and in the sick chamber with 
all speed. Dr. Bevary was not long. Neither did he 
remain long; ten minutes, at the most, and he was out 
again. Austin was then leaning over Peter Quale^s gate. 
He had been in no urgent mood for bed before, and this 
little excitement, though it did not immediately concern 
him, afforded him an excuse for not going to it. 

How is she, sir?” 

^^Is it you?” responded Dr. Bevary, She is gone. 
Gone to a world where for her there is neither sickness 
nor pain. I thought it would be sudden at the last.” 

‘• Poor thing!” ejaculated Austin. 

“Poor thing? Ay, thaPs what we are all apt to say 
of the departed. But there’s little cause when the 
spirit is meet for heaven. Olay— to go from a solemn 
subject to one that — that may, however, prove not less 
solemn in the end — you heard me mention a stranger I 
met at the gates of the yard to-day, and Mr. Hunter 
would not take my question. Was it Gwinn, of Ketter- 
ford?” 

The doctor had spoken in a changed, low tone, laying 
his hand, in his earnestness, on Austin’s shoulder. 
Austin paused. He did not know whether he ought to 
answer. ^ 

“ You need not hesitate,” said the doctor, divining his 
scruples. “ I can understand that Mr. Hunter may have 
forbidden you to mention it, and that you would be faith- 
ful to him. Don’t speak; your very hesitation has proved 
it to me. Good-night, my young friend; we would both 
serve him if we only knew how.” 

Austin watched him away, and then went in-doors, for 
Daffodil’s Delight began to be astir, and to collect itself 
around him, Sam Shuck having spread the news touching 
Mrs. Baxendale. Daffodil’s Delight thought nothing of 
leaving its bed, and issuing forth in shawls and panta- 
loons upon any rising emergency. 

It was a part of Austin Clay’s duty to sort the letters at 
Hunter & Hunter’s, upon their arrival by the general 
post. . On the morning following the above, he perceived 
among them two letters bearing the Ketterford post- 
mark. The one was addressed to himself, the other to 
“ Mr. Lewis Hunter,” and the handwriting of both Avas • 
the same. Austin, disposing of the other letters as usual. 


74 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


placing those for Messrs. Hunter in their room, against 
they should arrive, and dealing out any others there 
might be for the hands employed in the firm, according 
to their address, proceeded to open his own. 

To the very end of it Austin read; and then, and not 
till then, ho began to suspect that, it could not be meant 
for him. No name whatever was mentioned in the let- 
ter; it began abruptly, and it ended abruptly; not so 
much as ^'Sir'^ or ‘‘Dear Sir,^' was it complimented 
with, and it was simply signed “A. He read it a 

second time, and then its awful meaning flashed upon 
him, and a red flush rose to his brow and settled there, 
as if it were burnt into it. He had become possessed of 
a dangerous secret. 

There was no doubt that the letter was written by 
Miss Gwinn to Mr. Hunter. By some extraordinary 
mischance she had misdirected it. Possibly the letter 
now lying on Mr. HuiitePs desk might be for Austin. 
Though, what could she be writing about to him? 

He sat down; he was quite overcome with the revela- ^ 
tion; it was, indeed, of a terrible nature, and he would 
have given much not to have become cognizant of it. 

“ Biils!^^ — “ Money!’^ So that had been Sir. Hunter^s 
excuse for the m3'Stery! No wonder he sought to turn 
suspicion into any channel but the real one. 

Austin was pouring over the letter like one in a night- 
mare, when Mr. Hunter interrupted him. He crushed 
it into his pocket with all the aspect of a guilty man; 
any one might have taken him in his confusion so to bo. 
Not for himself was he confused, but he feared lest Mr. 
Hunter should discover the letter. Although certainly 
written for him, Austin did not care to hand it to him, for 
it would never do to let Mr. Hunter know that he pos- 
sessed the secret. Mr. Hunter came in, holding out the 
other letter from Ketterford. 

“ This letter is for you, Mr. Clay. It has been ad- 
dressed to me by mistake, I conclude.” 

xlustin took it and glanced his eyes over it. It con- 
tained a few abrupt lines, and a smaller note, sealed, was 
inside it. 

“My brother is in London, Austin Clay. I have rea- 
son to think he will be calling on the Messrs. Hunter. 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


75 


Will you watch for him and give him the inclosed note? 
Had he told me where he should put up in town, I 
should have had no occasion to trouble you. 

A. Gwiiq-K."^ 

Austin did not lift his eyes to Mr. Hunter^s in his 
usual candid, open manner. He could not bear to look 
him in the face; he feared lest his master might read in 
his the dreadful truth. 

‘‘What am I to do, sir ?^^ he asked. “Watch for 
Gwinn, and give him the note?^^ 

“ Do this with them,'" said Mr. Hunter. And, strik- 
ing a wax match, lie held both Austin's note and the 
sealed one over the flame till they were consumed. “ You 
could not fulfill the request if you wished, for the man 
went back to Ketterford last night." 

He said no more. He went away again, and Austin 
lighted another match and burnt the crushed letter in his 
pocket, thankful, so far, that it had escaped Mr. 
Hunter. 

Trouble came. Ere many days had elapsed there was 
dissension in the house of Hunter & Hunter. Thor- 
oughly united and cordial the brothers had always been; 
but now a cause of dispute arose, and it seemed that it 
could not be arranged. Mr. Hunter had drawn out five 
thousand pounds from the bank, and refused to state for 
what, except tliat it was fora “ private purpose." The 
business had been a gradually increasing one, and nearly 
all the money possessed by both was invested in it; so 
much as was not actually out, lay in the bank in their 
joint names, “ Hunter & Hunter." Each possessed a 
small private account, but nothing like sufiicient to meet 
a check for five thousand pounds. Words ran high be- 
tween them, their sound penetrating to the ears outside 
their private room. 

Mr. Hunter, his face pale, his lips compressed, his 
tone kept mostly subdued, sat at his desk, his eyes fall- 
ing on a ledger he was not occupied with, and his hand 
partially shading his face. Mr. Henry, more excited, 
giving way more freely to his anger, paced the room, oc- 
casionally stopping before the desk and before his brother. 

“It is the most unaccountable thing in the world," he 
reiterated, “that you should refuse to say what it has 


76 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


been applied to. Draw out, surreptitiously, a formidablo 
sum like that, and not account for it! It is monstrous."' 

‘‘Henry, I have told you all I can tell you,"" replied 
Hunter, concealing his countenance more than ever. 
“An old debt was brought up against me, and I was 
forced to satisfy it."" 

Mr. Henry Hunter curled his lip. “ A debt to that 
amount! Were you mad?"" 

“I did not— know — I— had — contracted it,"" stammered 
Mr. Hunter, very nearly losing his self-possession. “ At 
least I thought it had been paid. Youth"s errors do come 
home to us sometimes in later life."" 

“Not to the tune of five thousand pounds,"" retorted 
Mr. Henry Hunter. “ It will cripple the business; you 
know it will. It is next door to rum."" 

“ I could not help myself. Had I refused to pay it — 

“Well?"" for Mr. Hunter had stopped in embarrass- 
ment. 

“ I should have been compelled to do so. There. 
Talking of it will not mend it."" 

Mr. Henry Hunter took a few turns, and then wheeled 
round sharply. “Perhaps there are other claims for 
‘youth's follies" to come behind it?"" 

The words seenfbd to arouse Mr. Hunter; not to anger 
— to what looked very like fear — almost to an admission 
that it might be so. “ Were any such further claims to 
come, I would not satisfy it,"" he cried, wiping his face. 
“No, I would not; I would go into exile first."" 

“ We must part,"" said Mr. Henry Hunter, after an- 
other pause. “ There is no alternative. I cannot risk 
the beggaring of my wife and children."" 

“If it must be so, it must,"" was all the reply given. 

“Tell me the truth, James,"" urged Mr. Henry, in a 
more conciliatory tone. “I don't want to part. Tell 
me all, and let me be the judge. Surely, man! it can't 
be anything so very dreadful. You didn't set fire to 
your neighbor's house, I suppose?" 

“I never thought the claim could come upon me. 
That is all I can tell you." 

“Then we part," decisively returned Mr. Henry 
Hunter. 

“Yes, it may be better. If I am to be ruined, it is of 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


77 

no use to drag you down into it. Only, Henry, let the 
cause be kept from the world. 

should be clever to betray the cause, seeing that 
you leave me in ignorance of what it may be."’"’ 

‘^1 mean — let no shadow of the truth get abroad. The 
business is large enough for two firms, and we have 
agreed to carry it on apart. Let that be the plea.'' 

‘‘You take it coolly, James." 

A strange expression — a wning expression — passed over 
the face of James Hunter. 

“ I cannot help myself, Henry. The five thousand 
pounds are gone, and, of course, it is right that I should 
bear the loss alone — or any other loss that it may bring 
in its train." 

“ But why not impart to me the facts?" 

“No. It could not possibly do good; and it might 
make matters infinitely worse. One advantage our sepa- 
ration will have; there is a good deal of money owing to 
us from different quarters, and this will call it in," 

“Or I don't see how you would carry it on for your 
part," said Mr. Henry, “minus your five thousand 
pounds." 

“AVill you grant me a favor, Henry?" 

“That depends upon what it may be." 

“ Let the real cause be equally a secret from your wife, 
as from the world. I should not ask it without an ur- 
gent reason." 

“Don't you mean to tell Louisa?" 

“ No. Will you give me the promise?" 

“Very well. If it be of the consequence you seem to 
intimate. I cannot fathom you, James." 

“ Let us apply ourselves now to the ways and means of 
the dissolution. That, at any rate, may be amicable." 

* >)< ♦ * * * ♦ 

It fell upon the world like a thunderbolt — that is, the 
world connected with Hunter & Hunter. They separate? 
so flourishing a firm as that! The world at first refused 
to believe it; but the world soon found it was true. 

Mr. Hunter retained the yard where the business was 
at present carried on. Mr. Henry Hunter- found other 
premises to suit him, not far off; a little more to the 
west. Considerably surprised were Mrs. Hunter and 
Mrs. Henry; but the same plausible excuse was given 


78 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


to them; and they remained in ignorance of the true 
cause. 

^^Will you remain with me?’"’ pointedly asked Mr. 
Hunter of Austin Clay. particularly wish it."”. 

Austin smiled. 

''As you and Mr. Henry may decide, sir. It is not for 
me to choose. 

"We could both do with you, I believe. I had better 
talk it over with liim.^'’ 

"That will be the best plan, sir.^'’ 

" What do you part for?’^ abruptly inquired Dr. Bev- 
ary, one day, of the two brothers. 

Mr. Henry raised his eyebrows. Mr. Hunter . spoke 
volubly. 

" The business is getting too large. It will be better 
divided. 

" Moonshine I’"’ cried the doctor, quietly. "When a 
concern gets unwieldy, a man takes a partner on to help 
him on with it: you are separating. There^s many a 
firm larger than yours. Do you remember the proverb 
of the bundle of sticks?’" 

But neither Dr. Bevary nor anybody else got a better 
reason than that for the measure. The dissolution of 
partnership took place, it was duly gazetted, and the old 
firm became two. Austin remained with Mr. Hunter, as 
he was the only living being who gave a guess, or who 
could give a guess, at the real cause of separation — the 
drawing out of that five thousand pounds. 


CHAPTER Vlir. . 

Eor several years after the separation of Hunter & 
Hunter, things went on smoothly; at least, there was no 
event sufficiently marked that we need linger to trace it. 
Each had a flourishing business, though Mr. Hunter had 
some difficulty in staving off embarrassment in the 
financial department, a fact which was well known to 
Austin Clay, who was now confidential manager — head of 
all, under Mr. Hunter. 

He, Austin Clay, was getting toward thirty years of 
age. He enjoyed a handsome salary, and was putting 
by money yearly. He still remained at Peter Quale’s, 
though his position would have warranted a style of liv- 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


79 


ing far superior. Not that it could have brought him 
more respect; of that, he enjoyed a full share, both from 
master and men. Clever, energetic, firm, and friendly, 
he was thoroughly fitted for his post — he was liked and 
esteemed. But for him, Mr. Hunter's business might 
not have been what it was, and Mr. Hunter knew it. 

\vas a broken-spirited man, little capable now of de- 
voting energy to anything. The years, I say, had gone 
on, many of them, bringing us down to the present 
times. 

A hot evening in Daffodil's Delight; and Daffodil's De- 
light was making it a busy one. Uninterrupted pros- 
perity is sometimes nearly allied to danger; or, rather, 
danger may grow out of it. Prosperity begets independ- 
ence, and independence often begets assumption — very 
often a selfish, wrong view of surrounding things. If 
any workman had enjoyed of late years (it may be said) 
unlimited prosperity, they were those connected with the 
building trade. Therefore, being so flourishing, it struck 
some of their body, who in a degree gave laws to the rest, 
tlnit the best thing they could do was to make it more 
fiourishing still. They began to agitate for an increase 
of wages, which was to be accomplished by reducing the 
hours of labor, proposing to work nine hours per day in- 
stead of ten. They said nothing about relinquishing the 
wages of the extra hour; they would be paid for ten 
hours and work nine. The proposition was first put by 
the men of a leading metropolitan firm to their princi- 
pals, and, failing to obtain it, they threatened to strike. 
This it was that was just now agitating Daffodil's De- 
light. 

In the front room of one of the houses which abutted 
nearly on the gutter, and to which you must ascend by 
steps, there might be read in the window, inscribed on a 
piece of paper, the following notice: 

The Misses Dunn's, Milliner and Dressmakers. La- 
dies' own materials made up." 

The composition of the afficlie was that of the two Miss 
Dunns jointly, who prided themselves upon being elegant 
scholars. A twelvemonth's apprenticeship had initiated 
them into the mysteries of dressmaking; millinery had 
come to them, as Mark Tapley would say, spontaneous, 
or by dint of practice. Tlieyhad set up for themselves in 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


sso 

their fatlier’s house, aud could boast of a fair share of the 
patronage of DaffodiFs Delight. Showy damsels were 
they, with good-humored, turned u]^ noses, and light hair; 
much given to gadding and gossiping, and fonder of 
dressing themselves than of getting home the dresses of 
tlieir customers. 

On the above evening, they sat in their room, an upper 
one, stitching away. A gown was in progress for Mrs. 
Quale, who often boasted that she could do any work in 
the world, save make her own gowns. It had been in 
progress for two weeks, and that lady had at length come 
up in a temper, as Miss Jemima Dunn expressed it, and 
had demanded it to be returned, done or undone. They, 
with much deprecation, protested it should be home the 
first thing in the morning, and went to work. Four or 
five visitors, girls of thei]’ own age, were performing the 
part of lookers-on, and much laughter prevailed. 

say,” cried out Martha White — a 'pleasant-looking 
girl, who had perched herself aloft on the edge of a piece 
of furniture, which was a low chest of drawers by day, 
and turned into a bed at night. Mary Baxendale was 
crying yesterday, because of the strike; saying it would 
be bad for all of us, if it came. AinT she a soft?” 

"" Baxendale’s again it, too,” exclaimed Miss Eyan, 
Pat’s eldest hope; “father says he don’t think he’ll go in 
for it at all.” 

“ Mary Baxendale’s just one of them timid things as 
is afraid of their own shadders,” cried Mary Ann Dunn. 
“ If she saw a bull a-coming at the other end of the street, 
she’d turn tail and run. Jemirner, whatever are you at? 
The sleeves is to be in plaits, not gathers.” 

“ She do look ill, though, does Mary Baxendale,” said 
Jemima, after some attention to the sleeve in hand. “ It’s 
rny belief she’ll never live to see Christmas; she’s going 
the way her mother went. AVon’t it be prime, when the 
men get ten hours’ pay for nine hours’ work? I shall 
think about getting married then.” 

“You must find somebody to have you first,” quoth 
Grace Darby. “ You have not got a sweetheart yet.” 

Miss Jemima tossed her head. 

“I needn’t to wait long for that. The chaps be as 
plentiful as sprats in winter; all you have got to do is to 
pick and choose. I say, me and Mary Ann had the fin- 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


81 


est spree last night! We went to the new concert-room, 
and wore our new spotted muslins. We paid a shilling 
a- piece, and the singing and the chandeliers was lovely. 
Us and the Cheeks went together. It wasn't over till 
half-past eleven, and mother began screeching at us for 
stopping out so late. ^As if we could part with the 
young ladies afore, Mrs. Dunn!' cried Dick Cheek, who 
had beaued us home. And she said no more, for father 
he came in then, from the Bricklayer's Arms, and he had 
took a drop too much; so mother she left us to begin 
upon him. Wasn't it prime?" 

What's that?" interrupted Mrs. Dunn, darting into 
the room, with her sharp tongue and her dirty fine cap. 

What's that as was so prime, miss?" 

‘‘We are a-talking of the strike," responded Jemima, 
witli a covert wink to the rest. “ Martha White and Judy 
Eyan says the Baxendales won't go in for it." 

“ Not go in for it?" raved Mrs. Dunn. “ What idiots, 
then! Ain't nine hours a day enough for the men to be 
at work? I can tell the Baxendales what — when we have 
got the nine hours all straight and sure, we shall next 
demand eight. 'Tain't free-born Englishers as is going 
to be put upon. It'll be glorious times, girls, wont it? 
We shall get a taste o' fowls and salmon, maybe, for din- 
ner then!" 

“And a crinoline apiece," said Judy Ryan. 

“My father says he does not think the masters will 
come to if the men do strike," said Grace Darby. 

“ Of course they won't — till they are forced," returned 
Mrs. Dunn, in a spirit of satire. “But that's just what 
they're a-going to be. Don't you be a fool, Grace Darby!" 

“ Mother!" shrieked out a young voice from below, 
amidst choking sobs. “ Jacky's a- taking the treacle! 
He’s a-swallering of it down with all his fingers, and he 
won’t leave me none! Mother-er-er-er!" 

“Jacky," raved out Mrs. Dunn, in return, “if you 
don't let that treacle alone this minute. I'll come down 
and give you the sweetest basting as ever you tasted." 

Dotty Cheek rushed in. 

“ What d'ye think?" cried she, breathlessly. “ There's 
a-going to be a meeting of the men to-night in the big 
room of the ‘Bricklayer’s Arms.' They are a-filing in 
now, I think it must be about the strike." 


83 A LIFERS SECRET. 

D’ye suppose it would be about anything else?” re- 
torted Mrs. Dunn. I’d like to be one of ’em! Td hold 
out for the day’s work of eight hours, instead of nine, I 
would. So ’ud they, if they was men.” 

Mrs. Dunn’s speech was concluded to an empty room. 
All the girls had flown down, and into the street, leav- 
ing the parts of Mrs. Quale’s gown in closer contact with 
the dusty floor than was altogether to their benefit. 

The agitation in the trade had hitherto been chiefly 
smoldering in an under-current, but it was rising now to 
the surface. The meeting of this evening had been 
hastily arranged in the day; it was quite an informal 
sort of affair, and confined to the operatives of Mr. 
Hunter. 

Not in a workman’s jacket, but in a brown coat dan- 
gling to his heels, with a slit down the back and venti- 
lating holes for the elbows, first entered he who had been 
cliiefly instrumental in calling the meeting. It was Mr. 
Samuel Sliuck; better known, you may remember, as 
Slippery Sam. Somehow, Sam and prosperity could not 
contrive to pull together in the same boat. He was one 
of those who like to live on the fat of the land, but 
are too lazy to work for their share of it. Slippery Sam 
considered it a crying, personal wrong, that there Avas 
not some benevolent bank, or philanthropic public 
kitchen, to supply folks with plenty of good things 
gratis. 

“ Well,” began Sam, when the company had assem- 
bled, and were furnished with pipes and pewter pots, 

you have heard that that firm Avon’t accept the reduc- 
tion in the hours of labor, so the men have determined 
on a strike. Now, I haA^e got a question to put to you. 
Is there most power in one man, or in a feAV dozens of 
men? 

Some laughed, and said, the dozens.” 

‘‘A^ery good,” glibly went on Sam, whose tongue Avas 
smoother than oil. Then, the measure I wish to urge 
upon you is, make common cause with those men; Ave 
are not all obliged to strike at the same time; it will be 
better not; but by degrees. Let every firm in London 
strike, each at its appointed, time,” he continued, raising 
his voice to vehemence. “We must stand up for our- 
selves; for our rights; for our Avives and children. By 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


83 


making common cause together, we shall bowl o\it the 
masters, and bring them to terms/^ 

An aged man, Abel Wliite’s father, usually called old 
White, who was past work, and had a seat at his son’s 
chimney-corner, leaned forward and spoke, his voice 
tremulous but distinct. 

Samuel Shuck, did you ever know strikes to do any 
good, either to the men or the masters? Friends,” he 
added, casting his venerable head around, ^‘1 am in my 
eightieth year; and I picked up some experience while 
them eighty years was passing. Strikes have ruined some 
masters, in means; but they have ruined men wholesale, in 
means, and body, and in soul.” 

“ Hold, there!” cried Sam Shuck, who had not brooked 
the interruption patiently; “ just tell us, old White, be- 
fore you go on, whether coercion answers for British 
workmen?” 

It does not,” replied the old man, lifting his quiet 
voice to firmness. But perhaps you will tell me in 
your turn, Sam Shuck, whether it's likely to answer for 
masters?” 

It has answered for them,” returned Sam, in atone of 
irony. I have heard of back strikes, Avhere the masters 
were coerced and coerced, till the men got all they stood 
out for.” 

And so brought down ruin on their own heads,” re- 
turned the old man, shaking his. Did you ever hear 
of a lock-out, Shuck?” 

Ay, ay,” interposed quiet, respectable Robert Darby. 

Did you ever hear of that. Slippery Sam?” 

Slippery Sam growled: 

Let the masters lock out if they dare! Let’em. The 
men would hold out to the death.” 

‘‘And death it will be with some of us, if the strike 
comes, and lasts. I came down here to-night, on my 
son’s arm, just for your good, my friends, not for mine. 
At your age I thought as some of you do; but I have 
learnt experience now. It can’t last long, any way; and 
it’s little matter to me whether famine from a strike bo 
my end. or ” 

“Famine!” derisively retorted Slippery Sam. 

“Yes, famine,” was the quiet answer. “ Strikes never 
yet brought nothing but misery in the end. Let me urge 


84 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


upon you all not to be led away. My voice is but a fee- 
ble one; but I think the Lord is sometimes pleased to 
show out things clearly to the aged, almost as with a gift 
of prophecy; and I could only come and beseech you to 
keep upon the straightforward path. Don’t have any- 
thing to do with a strike; keep it away from you at arms- 
length, as you would keep away the evil one.” 

What’s the good of listening to him?” cried Slippery 
Sam in anger. “ He is in his dotage.” 

“ Will you listen to me then?” spoke up Peter Quale. 

I am not in mine. I didn’t intend to come here, as 
may be guessed; but when I found so many of you listen- 
ing to Slippery Sam, and bending your steps in this way, 
I thought it time to change my mind, and come out and 
tell you what I thought of strikes.” 

You /” rudely replied Slippery Sam. '' A fellow like 
you, always in full work, with the biggest wages, is sure 
not to favor strikes. You can’t be much better off than you 
are.” 

That admission of yours is worth something. Slip- 
pery Sam, if there’s any here have got the sense to see it,” 
nodded Peter Quale. ‘^Good workmen on full wages, 
donH favor strikes. I have rose up to what I am by stick- 
ing to my work patiently, and getting on step by step. 
It’s open to every living man to get on as I have done, if 
he have got skill and pluck to work. But if I had done 
as you do, Sam, and gone in for labor one day and for 
play two, and for drinking, and strikes, and rebellion, be- 
cause money, which I was too lazy to work for, didn’t 
drop from the skies into my hands, then I should just 
have been where you be.” 

*'Is it right to keep a man grinding and sweating his 
life out for ten hours a day?” retorted Sam. The mas- 
ters would be as well off if we worked nine, and the sur- 
plus men would find employment.” 

‘^It isn’t much of your life that you sweat out of yon, 
Sam Shuck. And, as to the masters being as well off, 
you had better ask them about that. Perhaps they’d 
tell you that, to pay ten hours’ wages for nine hours’ 
work, would be the hour’s wages dead loss to their pock- 
ets.” 

Are you rascal enough to go in for the masters?” de- 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


85 


manded Sam, in a fiery heat. WhoM do that but a 
traitor?^’ 

I go ill for myself, Sam,^^ equably responded Peter 
Quale. ‘‘I know on which side my bread’s buttered. 
No skillful workman, possessed of thought and Judg- 
ment, ever went blindfolded into a strike. At least, not 
many such.” 

Up rose Kobert Darby. 

Pd Just say a word, if I can get my meaning out, but 
Pm not cute with the tongue. It seems to me that it 
would be a great boon if we could obtain the granting of 
the nine hours’ movement; and perhaps in the end it 
would not affect the masters, for they’d get it out of the 
public. I’d agitate on this in a peaceful way, in the 
shape of reason and argument, but Pd not like, as Peter 
Quale says, to plunge blindfolded into a strike.” 

I look at it in this light. Darby,” said Peter Quale, 
"‘and it seems to me it’s the only light as’ll answer to 
look at it in. Things in this world is estimated by com- 
parison. There ain’t nothing large nor small m itself. I 
may say, this chair’s big; well, so it is if you match it 
by that there bit of a stool in the chimney corner; but 
it’s precious small if you put it by the side of an omni- 
bus, or of one of the sheds in our yard. Now if you 
compare our wages with those of workmen in most other 
trades they are large; look at a farm laborer, poor fel- 
low, with his ten shillings (more or less) a week, hardly 
keeping body and soul together; look at what a man earns 
in the malting districts in the country; fifteen shillings 
and his beer is reckoned good wages. Look at a police- 
man, with his pound a week; look at a postman; look 
at ” 

“ Look at ourselves,” intemperately interrupted Jim 
Dunn. “ What’s other folks to us? We work hard, and 
we ought to be paid accordingly.” 

“ So I think we are,” said Peter Quale. “ Thirty- 
three shillings is not bad wages, and it’s only a delusion 
to say it is. Neither is ten hours a day a unfair or op- 
pressive time to work. I’d be as glad as anybody to have 
the hour took off, if it could be done pleasantly; but I 
am not going to put myself out of work and into trouble 
to stand out for it. It’s a thing that I am convinced 


86 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


the masters never will give; and if Trollope’s men strike 
for it, they’ll do it against their own interests ” 

Hisses and murmurs of disapprobation from various 
parts of the room interrupted Peter Quale. 

You’d better wait and understand, afore you begin to 
hiss,” phlegmatically recommended Peter Quale, when 
the noise bad subsided. I say it will be against their 
interests to strike, because I’m sure, if they stop on 
strike for twelve months, they’ll be no nearer getting 
their end. I may be wrong, but that’s my opinion. 
There’s always two sides to a question — our own, and the 
opposite one: and the great fault in everybody is, that 
they look only at their own side, and it causes them to 
see things in a partial view. I have looked as fair as I 
can at our own side, trying to put away my bias for it; 
and I have put myself in thought on the master’s side, 
saying to myself, what would I do, were I one of them. 
Thus I have tried to judge between them and us, and 
the conclusion I have drawn is, that they won’t give in.” 

The masters have been brought to grant demands 
more unreasonable than this,” rejoined Sam Shuck. ^^If 
you know anything about back strikes, you must know 
that, Quale.” 

And that’s one of the reasons why I argue they won’t 
grant this,” said Peter. ‘‘If they go on granting and 
granting, they may get asking themselves where the de- 
mands’ll stop.” 

“ In 1833,” spoke up old White again, “ I was working 
in Manchester, and belonged to the Trades’ Union; a 
powerful Union as ever was formed. In our strength, we 
thought we should like a thing or two altered, and we 
made a formal demand upon the master builders, requir- 
ing them to discontinue the erection of buildings on sub- 
contracts. The masters fell in with it. You’ll under- 
stand, friends,” he broke off to say, “that, looking at 
things now, and looking at ’em then, is just as if I saw 
’em in two opposite aspects. Next, we gave out a set of 
various rules for the masters, and required them to abide 
by sucli — about the making of the wages equal; the num- 
ber of apprentices they should take; the machinery they 
should or should not use; and other things. AVell, the 
masters gave us that also, and it put us all cock-a-hoop, 
and we went on to dictate to ’em more and more. If 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


87 


they — the masters— broke any of our rules, we levied fines 
on ’em, and made ’em pay up; we ordered ’em before us 
at our meetings, found fault with ’em, commanded ’em 
to obey us, to take on such men as we pointed out, and 
to turn off others; in short, forced ’em to do as we chose. 
People might have thought that we was the masters, and 
they the operatives. Pretty well that, wasn’t it?” 

The room nodded acquiesence. Slippery Sam snapped 
his fingers in delight. 

^‘The worst was, it did not last,” resumed the old 
man. Like too many other folks, emboldened with 
success, we wasn’t content to let well alone, but went on 
a bit too far. The masters took up their own defense at 
last; and the wonder to me now, looking back, is, that 
they did’t do it before. They formed themselves into a 
union, and passed a resolve to employ no man unless he 
signed a pledge not to belong to a trades’ union. Then 
we all turned out. Six months tlie strike was on, and 
the buildings was at a'standstill, and us out of work.” 

‘MVere wages bad at that time?” inquired Robert 
Darby. 

No. Tlie good workmen among us had been earning 
in the summer thirty- five shillings a week; and the 
bricklayers had just had a raise of three shillings. We 
were just fools; that’s my opinion of it now. Awful 
misery we were reduced to; every stick and stone we had 
went to the pawn shop! our wives were skin and bone, 
our children was in rags; and some of us just iaid our 
heads down on tlie stones, and awoke with God — 
clammed to death.” 

^MYhat was the trade in other places about, that it 
didn’t help you?” indignantly demanded Sam Shuck. 

They did help us. Money to the tune of eighteen 
thousand pounds came to us; but we was a large body — 
many mouths to feed, and the strike was prolonged. 
We had to come to at last, for the masters wouldn’t; and 
we voted our combination a nuisance, and went humbly to 
’em, like dogs with their tails between their legs, and 
craved to be took on again upon their own terms. But 
we couldn’t get took back; not all of us; the masters had 
learnt a lesson, and ha«l got machinery to work, and had 
collected workmen from other parts, so that we was not 


88 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


wanted. And that’s all the good the strike brought to 
us. I came away on the tramp with my family, and got 
work in London after a deal of struggle and privation; 
and I took a oath never, God helping me, to belong will- 
ingly to a strike again.” 

‘^Do you see where the fault lay in that case? — the 
blame? — the whole gist of the evil?” 

The question came from a gentleman who had entered 
the room as old White was speaking. The men would 
have risen to salute him, but he signed to them to cause 
no interruption — a tall, noble man, with a serene, self- 
reliant countenance. 

It lay with the masters,” he resumed, nobody reply- 
ing to him. ‘^Had those Manchester masters resisted 
the first demand of their men, a demand made in the in- 
solence of power, not in need — and allowed them fully to 
understand that they were, and would be, masters, we 
should, I believe, have heard less of strikes since than we 
have done. I never think of those Manchester masters 
but my blood boils. When a principal suffers himself to 
be dictated to by his men, he is no longer a master, or 
worthy of the name.” 

Had you been one of them, and not complied, you 
might have come to ruin, sir,” said Koberfc Darby. 

There’s a deal to be said on both sides.” 

Kuin!” was the answer. I never would have con- 
ceded an inch, had I known that I must end my days in 
the workhouse through not doing it.” 

Of course, sir, you’d stand up for the masters, being 
hand and glove with ’em, and likely .to be a master your- 
self,” grumbled Sam Shuck. 

I should stand up for whichever side I deemed in the 
right, whether it was the masters’ or the men’s,” was 
the emphatic answer. Is it well — is it in accordance 
with the fitness of things, that a master should be under 
the control of his men? Come! I ask it of your common 
sense.” 

'^No.” It was readily acknowledged. 

"‘Those Manchester masters and those Manchester 
operatives were upon a par as regards shame and blame; 
and I make no doubt that both equally deemed them- 
selves to have been so when they found their senses. 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


H9 


The masters came to theirs: the men were brought to 
theirs.” 

You speak strongly, sir.” 

‘‘Because I feel strongly. When I become a master, 
I shall, if I know anything of myself, have my men^s in- 
terests at heart; but none of them shall ever presume to 
dictate to me in the smallest particular. I would never 
brook it. If a master cannot exercise his own authority 
ill firm self-reliance, let him give up business.” 

“ Have masters a right to oppress us, sir? — to grind us 
down? — to work us into our coffins?” cried Sam Shuck. 

The gentleman raised his eyebrows, and a half smile 
crossed his lips. 

“Since when have you been oppressed, and ground 
down into your coffins?” 

Some of the men laughed — at Sam^s oily tongue. 

“ If you are — if you have any complaint of that sort to 
make, let me hear it now, and I will convey it to Mr. 

Hunter. He is ever ready, you know, to What did 

you say. Shuck? The nine hours' concession is all you 
want? If you can get the masters to give you ten hours' 
pay for nine hours' work, so much the better for you. I 
would not; but it is no affair of mine. To be paid what 
you honestly earn, be it five pounds per week or be it 
one, is only justice; but to be paid for what you don't 
earn is the opposite thing. I think, too, that the equali- 
zation of wages is a mistaken system, quite wrong in 
principle; one which can bring only discontent in the 
long run. I conclude that you have mot here to discuss 
this agitation at the Messrs. Trollope's?” 

“ Trollopes' men are a-going to strike,” said Slippery 
Sam. 

“ Oh, they are, are they?” returned the gentleman, 
some mockery in his tone. “I hope they may find it to 
tlieir benefit. I don't know what the Messrs. Trollope 
may do in the matter; but I know what I should.” 

“ Y’ou'd hold out to the last against the men?” 

“ I should; to the last and the last, were it for ten years 
to come. Force a measure upon me! coerce me!^* he re- 
iterated, drawing his fine form to its full height, while 
the red flush mantled in his cheeks. “No, my men, I 
am not made of that yielding stuff; I think I have more 
of the bull-dog in me than the cowardly cur. Let me be 


90 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


fully persuaded that my judgment is right, and no body 
of men on earth should force me to act against it/' 

The speaker was Austin Clay. 


CHAPTER IX. 

■ Austin Clay beckoned out Peter Quale. He, Austin, 
had not gone to the meeting to interrupt it, or to take 
part in it; but, hearing from Mrs. Quale that Peter was 
at the ‘‘ Bricklayer's Arms" — a rare occurrence — for Pe- 
ter was not one who favored public-houses — he had gone 
thither in search of him, and so found himself in the 
midst of the meeting;, his business with Peter related to 
certain orders lie required to give for the early morning. 

"‘ What are those men about to rush into. Quale?" he 
demanded, when his own matter was over. 

“Ah, what, indeed!" returned the man. “If they 
do get led into a strike, they'll repent it, some of them." 

“ You are not one of the malcontents, then?" 

“I!"retorter Peter, utter scorn in his tone. “ Xo, 
sir. There's a proverb which I learnt years ago from an 
old book as was lent me, and I’ve not forgotten it, sir — 
"Let well alone.' But you must not think all the men 
you saw sitting there be discontented agitators, Mr. 
fc/lay. It's only Shuck and a few of that stamp. The 
rest be as steady and cautions as I am." 

“ If they don't get led away," was the reply of Austin 
Clay, and his voice betrayed a dubious tone. "" Slippery 
Sam, in spite of his loose qualifications, is a ringleader 
more persuasive than true." 

Austin was not wrong. Rid of Peter Quale, who was 
a worse enemy of Sam's schemes than ever old White, 
Sam had it nearly his own way. He poured his eloquent 
words into the men's ears; and Sam really did possess elo- 
quence — of a rough and rude sort — but that tells well 
with the class around him; he brought forth argument 
upon argument, fallacious as they were plausible; he told 
the men it depended upon tliern whether the boon they 
were standing out for should be accorded them, not upon 
the masters. Not that Sam called it a boon; he spoke of it 
as a right. Let them only be firm and true to themselves, 
and the masters must give in; there was no help for it, 
they would have no other resource. Sam finally concluded 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


91 


by demanding, witli fierce looks all round, whether they 
were men, or whetlier they were slaves, and the men an- 
swered, with a cheer and a shout, that Britons never 
should be slaves; and the meeting broke up in excite- 
ment and glorious spirits, and went home reeling, some 
with the anticipation of the fine time that was dawning 
for them, others with having consumed a little too much 
half-and-half. 

Slippery Sam reeled away to his home. A dozen or so 
attended him, listening to his oratory, which was con- 
tinued still; though not exactly to the gratification of 
DaffodiTs Delight, who were hushing their unruly babies 
to sleep, or striving to get to sleep themselves. Much 
Sam cared who he disturbed! he went along, flinging 
his arms and his words at random — inflammatory words, 
carrying poisoned shafts that told. If somebody came 
-down upon you and upon me, telling us that, with a lit- 
tle exertion on our part, we should inevitably drop into 
a thousand a year, and showing plausible cause for the 
same, should we turn a deaf ear? The men shook hands 
individually with Slippery Sam, and left him propped 
against his own door; for Sam, with all deference be it 
spoken, was a little overcome himself — with the talking, 
of course. 

Sam^s better half greeted him with a shrill tongue; she 
and Mrs. Dunn might be paired in that respect; and 
Sam^s children, some in the bed in the corner, some sit- 
ting up, greeted him with a shrill cry also, clamoring 
for a very commonplace article indeed — some bread!” 

Sam^s family seemed to increase out of spite; for the 
less there appeared to be to welcome them with, the surer 
and -faster they arrived. Thirteen Sam could number 
now; but several of the elder ones were out in the world 

doing for themselves’^ — getting on, or starving, as it 
might happen. 

^^You old sot! you have been at that drinking-can 
again,” were Mrs. Sam’s words of salutatfon; and I wish 
1 could soften them down to refinement for polite ears; 
but if you are to have the truth, you must take them as 
they were spoken. 

‘^Drinking-can!” echoed Sam, who was in too high 
glee to lose his temper; “never mind the drinking-can, 
missis; my fortune’s made. I drawed together that meet- 


92 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


ing, as I telled ye I should/" he added, discarding his 
scholarly eloquence for the familiar home pliraseology, 

and they come to it, every man jack on "em, save thin- 
skinned Baxendale, up- stairs. Never was such a full 
meeting knowed in DaffodiFs Delight."" 

‘MVho cares for the meeting?"" irascibly demanded 
Mrs. Sam. ‘‘ What we wants is some"at to fill our insides 
with. Don’t come bothering home here about a meet- 
ing, when the children be a-starving. If you’d work 
more and talk less, it "ud become you better.” 

I got the ear of the meeting,” said Sam, braving the 
reproof with a provoking wink. ‘‘ A despicable set our 
men is at Hunter’s, a humdrumming on like slaves for- 
ever, taking their paltry wages and making no stir. But 
I’ve put the brand among ’em at last, and sent ’em home 
all on fire, to dream of short work and good pay. Quale, 
he come, and put in his spoke again’ it; and that wretched 
old skeleton of a White, what’s been cheating the grave 
this ten year, he come, and put in his; and Mr. Austin 
Clay, he must thrust his nose among us, and talk treason 
to the men; but I think I have circumvented the lot. 
If I haven’t my name’s not Sam Shuck.” 

‘^If you, and your circumventions, and your tongue, 
was all at the bottom of the Thames, "twouldn’t be no 
loss, for all the good they does above it,” sobbed Mrs. 
Shuck, whose anger generally ended in tears. ‘‘Here’s 
me and the children a clamming for want o’ bread, and 
you can waste your time over a idle, good-for-nothing 
meeting. Ain’t you ashamed, not to work as other men 
do?” 

“Bread!” loftily returned Sam, with the air of a king, 
“’tisn’t bread I shall soon be furnishing for you and the 
cliilJren; it’s mutton chops. My fortain’s made, I say.” 

“ Yah!” retorted Mrs. Sam. “It have been made forty 
times in the last ten year, to listen to you. What good 
has ever come of the boast? I’d shut my mouth if I 
couldn’t talk sense.” 

Sam nodded his head oraculary, and entered upon an 
explanation. But for the fact of his being a little “ over- 
come ” — whatever may have been its cause — he would 
have been more guarded. “ I’ve had overtures,” he 
said, bending forward his head and lowering his voice, 
“and them overtures, which I accepted, will be the 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


making of you and me. WorkT he exclaimed, throwing 
his arms gracefully from him with a repelling gesture; 
‘^Fve done with work now; Tin superior to it; Tm ex- 
alted far above that lowering sort of toil. The leaders 
among the London Trade Union have recognized elo- 
quence, ma'am, let me tell you; and they've made me 
one of their picked body — appointed me agitator to the 
firm of Hunter. ‘ You get the meeting together and 
prime 'em with the best of your eloquence, and excite 
'em to recognize and agitate for their own rights, and 
you shall have your appointment, and a good round 
weekly salary.' Well, Mrs. S., I did it; I got the men 
together, and I have primed 'em, and some of 'em's burst- 
ing to go off; and all I’ve got to do from henceforth is to 
keep 'em up to the mark, by means of that tongue which 
you are so fond of disparaging, and to live like a gentle- 
man. There's a trifling installment on the first week's 
money." 

Sam threw a sovereign on the table. Mrs. Shuck, 
with a grunt of disparagement still, darted forward to 
seize upon it through her tears. The children, uttering 
a wild shriek of wonder, delight, and disbelief, born of 
incipient famine, darted forward to seize it, too. Sam 
burst into an agony of laughter, threw himself back to 
indulge it, and not being just then over steady on his 
pins, lost his equilibrium, and toppled over the fender 
into the ashes. 

Leaving Mrs. Shuck to pick him up, or to leave hinr 
there — which latter negative course was the one she 
would probably take — let us return to Austin Clay. 

When he quitted the meeting, early in the evening, 
with Peter Quale, the two proceeded home together. 
Mrs. Quale came running out of her house as they were 
about to enter it. 

“ I was coming in search of you, sir," she said to 
Austin Clay. This has just been brought, and the man 
made me sign my name to a paper." 

Austin took what she held out to him — a telegraphic 
dispatch. He opened it; read it; then, in the prompt, de- 
cisive manner usual with him, requested Mrs. Quale to 
put up a change of things in his portmanteau, which he 
would return for, and walked away with a rapid step. 

Whatever news is it that he has bad?" cried Mrs. 


94 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


Qnale., as she stood with her husband, looking after him. 
“ Where can he have been summoned to?’^ 

’Taint no business of ours,” retorted Peter; if it 
had been, he’d have enlightened us. Did 3^011 ever hear 
of that offer that’s always pending? Five hundred a 
year to anybody as’ll undertake to mind his own busi- 
ness, and leave other folks alone.” 

:{< :jc ^ * * 

In the soft twilight of the summer evening, in the 
room of their house that opened to the conservatory, sut 
Florence Hunter — no longer the impulsive, charming 
and somewhat troublesome child, but the young and 
lovely woman. Of middle height, and graceful form, 
her face was one of great sweetness; the earnest, truth- 
ful spirit, the pure innocence, which had made its charm 
in youth, made it now; to look on Florence Hunter was 
to love her. 

She appeared to be in deep thought, her cheeky resting 
on her hand, and her eyes fixed on vacancy. Some 
movement in the house aroused her, and she arose, shook 
her liead, as if she would shake care away, and bent over 
a rare plant in the room’s large opening, lightly touching 
the leaves. 

I fear that mamma is right, and I am wrong, pretty 
plant!” she murmured. fear that you will die. Is it 
that this London, with its heavy atmosphere ” 

The knock of a visitor at the hall door resounded 
through the house. Did Florence know the knock, that 
her voice should falter, and the soft pink in her cheeks 
should deepen to a glowing crimson! The room door 
opened, and a servant announced Mr. Olay. 

In that early railway journey, when they first met, 
Florence had taken a predilection for Austin Clay. “I 
like him so much!” had been her gratuitous announce- 
ment to her uncle Henry. The liking had ripened into 
an attachment, firm and lasting — a child’s attachment — 
but Florence grew into a woman, and it could not remain 
such. 

It has been said that in nine cases out of ten, love 
springs of social companionship. Let an attractive man 
and woman, heart whole, be thrown much together, and 
the almost inevitable result is love.' Whether it be suit- 
able or unsuitable, it will come, bringing too often grief 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


95 


and perplexity in its train. very imprudent!"’ 

people exclaim, when some inexpedient affair of the sort, 
terribly inexpedient in the eyes of parents and guardians, 
is brought to light; why did they fall in love with each 
other?” Why, indeed! we may echo, and no excuse 
whatever can be urged in mitigation of the dilemma, save 
that they fell into it imperceptibly, unconsciously; that 
before they were awake to the danger, the power to avoid 
it was over. An esteemed friend, stopping temporarily 
in a seaport town, walked off the pier one evening, and 
dropped into the black mud of the harbor: no light fall. 
The pier had an unprotected angle, which had no busi- 
ness to be unprotected, and he, deceived by the dusk, 
and unacquainted with the place, actually walked right 
off it, and went plump in. “ However could yon do such 
a stupid thing?” everybody said to him afterward. 

Do!” returned he; do you suppose I did it for the 
purpose? Before I knew anything of the danger, I was 
in the mud.” 

Why did Austin Clay learn to love Florence Hunter? 
— why did she learn to love him? Neither could have 
told. ^ Certainly not in obedience to premeditated will, 
love generally comes in opposition to thaO Thrown 
much together, the passion had mutualTy^risen; they 
fell into it unconsciously, in spite of themselves, like our 
friend did into the mud. Was it quite prudent of Mr. 
Hunter to sanction, nay, to court, the frequent presence 
at his house of Austin Clay? Did he overlook the obvi- 
ous fact that he was one who possessed attractions, both 
of mind and person, which might render him dangerous 
to the peace of woman, and that Florence was now a 
woman grown? Or did Mr. Hunter deem that the social 
barrier which, he might assume, there existed between 
his daughter and his dependent, would effectually pre- 
vent all approach to danger? Mr. Hunter must account, 
himself, for the negligence; no one else can do it. It 
was certain that he did have Austin very much to his 
house, but it was equally certain that he never cast a 
thought to the possibility that his daughter might be 
learning to love him. 

The strange secret, whatever it may have been, attach- 
ing to Mr. Hunter, had shattered his health to that ex- 
tent that, for days together, he would be unequal to go 


96 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


abroad to attend to business. Then Austin, who acted 
as principal in the absence of Mr. Hunter, would arrive 
at the house, when the next day was over, to report pro- 
gress, and take orders for the next day; or, rather,^con- 
sult with him what the orders should be, for in energy, 
in capability, Austin was now tlie master spirit, and Mr. 
Hunter bent to it. That over, he passed the rest of the 
evening in the society of Florence, conversing with her 
freely, confidentially; literature, art, the news of the day; 
on topics of home interest, listening to her music, 
listening to her low’ voice as she sang her songs, guiding 
her pencil. There they were; he, with his eloquent in- 
tellect, his fascinating powers, his noble form; she, with 
her sweet attractions, her gentle loveliness. What could 
be the result? But, as is almost invariably the case, the 
last person to give a suspicion to it was he who positively 
looked on, and might have seen all — Mr. Hunter. Life, 
in the presence of the other, had become sweet to each as 
a summer’s dream — a dream that had stolen over them 
ere their conscience awoke to it. 

Very conscious of it were they as he entered this even- 
ing. Austin took her hand in greeting; a hand always 
tremulous now in his. She bent again over the plant 
she was tending, her eyelids and her damask cheeks 
drooping. 

You are alone, Florence!” 

Just now. Mamma is very poorly this evening and 
keeps her room. Papa was here a few minutes ago.” 

He raised her hand, and stood looking at her, as she 
played with the petals of the flower. Not a word had 
Austin spoken of his love; not a word was he sure that 
he might speak. If he partly divined that it might be 
acceptable to her, he did not believe it would be to Mr. 
Hunter. 

'"The plant looks sickly,” he observed. 

"Yes. It is one that thrives in cold and wind. It 
comes from Scotland. Mamma feared this close London 
atmosphere would not suit it; but I said it looked so 
hardy, it would be sure to do well. Rather than it should 
die, I would send it back to its bleak home.” 

" In tears, Florence! for the sake of a plant!” 

" Not for that,” she answered, twinkling the moisture 
from her eyelashes, as she raised them to his with a 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


9T 


brave smile. I was thinking of mamma; she appears 
to be fading rapidly, like the plant.^^ 

She may grow stronger when the heat of summer 
shall have passed.” 

Florence slightly shook her head, as if she could not 
share in the suggested hope. 

‘‘ Mamma herself does not seem to think she shall, 
Austin. She has dropped ominous words more than once, 
latterly. This afternoon I showed her the plant, that it 
was drooping. ‘ Ah, my dear,' she remarked, ‘ it is like 
me — on the wane.' And I think my uncle Bevary's opin- 
ion has become unfavorable.” 

It was a matter on which Austin could not urge hope, 
though he might suggest it, for he believed that Mrs. 
Hunter was fading rapidly. He changed the subject. 

hope Mr. Hunter will come in, Florence. I am 
come to ask for leave of absence.” 

‘‘Papa is not out, he is sitting with mamma. That is 
another reason why I fear danger for her. I think papa 
sees it; he is so solicitous for her comfort, so anxious to 
be with her, as if he would guard her from surprise or 
agitating topics. He will not suffer a visitor to enter at 
hazard; he will not let a note be given her, until he has 
first seen it.” 

“ But he has long been thus anxious.” 

“I know. But still, latterly However, I must 

hope against hope,” broke off Florence. “ I think I do; 
hope is certainly a very strong ingredient in my nature, 
for I cannot realize the parting with my dear mother. 
Did you say you have come for leave of absence? Where 
is it that you wish to go?” 

“ 1 have had a telegraphic dispatch from Ketterford,” 
he replied, taking it from his pocket. “ My good old 
friend, Mrs. Thornimett, is dying, and I must hasten 
thither with all speed.” 

“ Oh !” uttered Florence, almost reproachfully. “ And 
you are wasting the time with me!” 

“Not so. The first tram that goes does not start for 
an hour yet, and I can get to Paddington in half one. 
The news has grieved me much. The last time I was at 
Ketterford — you may remember it — Mrs. Thornimett 
was so very well, exhibiting no symptoms whatever of 
decay.” 


98 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


‘‘ I remember it,” answered Florence. It is two 
years ago. You stayed a whole fortnight with her.” 

‘'And had a battle with her to get away then,” said 
Austin, smiling with the reminiscence, or with Florence’s 
word "whole ” — a suggestive word, spoken in that sense. 
"She wished me to remain longer. I wonder what ill- 
ness can have stricken her? it must have been sudden.” 

" What is the relationship between you?” 

"A distant one. She and my mother were second 
cousins. If I ” 

Austin was stopped by the entrance of Mr. Hunter — 
so changed, so bent and bowed, since you, reader, last 
saw him. The stout, upright figure had grown thin and 
stooping, the fine dark hair was gray, the once calm, self- 
reliant face was worn and haggard. Nor was that all; 
there was a constant restlessness in his manner, and in 
the turn of his eyes, giving a spectator the idea that he 
lived in a state of ever-present perpetual fear. 

Austin put the telegraphic message in his hand. 

" It is an inconvenient time, I know, sir, for me to be 
away, busy as we are, and with this agitation rising 
among the men, but I cannot help myself. I will return 
as soon as it is possible.” 

Mr. Hunter did not hear the words. His eyes had 
fallen on the word " Ketterford,” in the dispatch, and 
that seemed to scare away his senses. His hands shook 
as he held the paper, and for a few moments he appeared 
incapable of collected thought, of understanding any- 
thing. Austin explained again. 

" Oh, yes, yes, yes, it is only — it is Mrs. Thornimett 
who is iil and wants you — I comprehend now.” He 
spoke in an incoherent manner, and with a sigh of the 
most intense relief. " I — I saw the word ‘ dying,’ and it 
startled me,” he proceeded, as if anxious to account for 
his agitation. "You can go, Austin; you must go. 
Remain a few days there — a week if you find it neces- 
sary.” 

"Thank you, sir. I will say farewell now, then.” 

He shook hands with Mr. Hunter, turned to Florence 
and took hers. 

" Remember me to Mrs. Hunter,” he said in a low 
tone, which, in spite of himself, betrayed his own tender- 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


99 


ness, and tell her I hope to find her better on mv re- 
turn/' 

A few paces . from the house Austin encountered Dr. 
Bevary. 

‘^Is she much worse?" he exclaimed to Austin, in a 
hasty tone. 

“ Is who much worse, doctor?" 

“ Mrs. Hunter. I have just had a message from her." 

Not very much, I fancy. Florence said her mamma 
was poorly this evening. I am off to Ketterford, doctor, 
for a few days." 

‘‘ To Ketterford!" replied Dr. Bevary, with an emphasis 
that showed the news had startled him. “ What are you 
going there for? For — for Mr. Hunter?" 

“For myself," said Austin. “A good old friend is 
ill — dying, the message says — and has telegraphed for 
me." 

The physician looked at him searchingly. 

“ Do you speak of Miss Gwinn?" 

“ I should not call her a friend," replied Austin. “I 
allude to Mrs. Thornimett." 

“ A pleasant journey to you, then. And, Olay! Steer 
clear of those Gwinns; they would bring you no good." 

It was in the dawn of the early morning that Austin 
entered Ketterford. He did not let the grass grow under 
his feet between the railway terminus andf Mrs. Thorni- 
mett's; though he was somewhat dubious about disturb- 
ing the house. If she was really “ dying," it might be 
well that he should do so; if only suffering from a severe 
illness, it might not be expected of him; and tlie word- 
ing of the message had been ambiguous, leaving it an 
open question. As he drew within view of the house, 
liowever, it exhibited signs of bustle; lights not yet put 
out in the dawn, might be discerned through some of the 
curtained windows, and a woman, having much the ap- 
pearance of a nurse, was coming out at the door, halting 
on the threshold a moment to hold converse with one 
within. 

“ Can you tell how Mrs. Thornimett is?" inquired 
Austin, addressing himself to her. 

The woman shook her head. 

“ She is gone, sir. Not more than an hour ago," 


100 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


Sarah, the old servant whom you have seen before at 
Mrs. Tliornimett's, came forward, weeping. 

Oh, Mr. Austin! oh, sir, why could you not get here 
sooner 

‘‘How could I, Sarah was his reply. “I received 
the message only last evening, and came off by the first 
train that started."’' 

“ Fd have took a engine to myself, and rode upon its 
cliimbley, but what I'd got liero in time," retorted Sarali. 
“Twice in the very last half hour of her life she asked 
after you. ‘ Isn't Austin come?' ‘Isn't he yet come?' 
Poor, dear, old mistress!" 

“ Why was I not sent for before?" he asked. 

“ Because we never thouglit it was turning serious," 
sobbed Sarah. “She caught cold some days ago, and it 
flew to her throat, or her chest, I hardly know which. 
The doctor was called in; and it's my belief he didn't 
know; the doctors nowadays hain't worth half what 
they'd used to be, and they call things by fine names 
that nobody can understand. However it may have been, 
nobody saw any danger, neither him nor us. But, at 
midday yesterday, there was a change, and the doctor 
said he'd like further advice to be brought in. And it 
was had; but they could not do her any good; and she, 
poor dear mistress, was the first to say that she was dying. 
‘Send for Austin, 'she said to me; and one of the gentle- 
men he went fro the wire telegraph place, and wrote the 
message. Will you see her, sir?" 

Austin nodded acquiescence, and the servant led the 
way to the death-chamber. It had been put straight, so 
to remain until all that was left of its many years' occu- 
pant should be removed. She lay on the bed in placid 
stillness; her eyes closed, her pale face calm, a smile 
upon it, so sweet as almost to speak of Heaven. Austin 
leaned over her, losing himself in solemn thoughts. 
Whither had the spirit flown? to what bright unknown 
world? Had it found the company of sister spirits? had 
it seen, face to face, its loving Saviour? Oh! what mat- 
tered how the fleeting years of this life had fretted them- 
selves away! how worse than unimportant did they seem 
by the side of death! A little, more or less, of care; a 
lot where shade or sunshine shall have predominated; a 
few friends gained or lost; struggle, toil, hope — all must 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


101 


merge in the last rest. It was over; earth, with its trou- 
bles and its petty cares, with its race after fortune and 
its goods stored up for many years as completely 
over for Mary Thornimett^ as though it had never 
been. In the bright realms whither her spirit had hast- 
ened — 

I told Mrs. Dubbs to knock up the undertaker, and 
desire him to come here at once and take the measure for 
the coffin.^^ 

Sarah^s interruption recalled Austin to the world. It 
is impossible, even in a death-chamber, to run away from 
the ordinary duties of daily life! 


CHAPTER X. 

“You will stay for the funeral, Mr. Olay?” 

“ It is my intention to do so.” 

“Good. Being interested in the will, it maybe agree- 
able to you to hear it read.” 

“ Am I interested?” inquired Austin, in some surprise. 

“ AVhy, of course you are,” replied Mr. Knapley, the 
legal gentleman with whom Austin was speaking, and 
Avho had the conduct of Mrs. Thornimett’s affairs. 
“Did you never know that you were a considerable lega- 
tee?” 

“I did not,” said Austin. “ Some years ago — it was 
at the death of Mr. Thornimett — Mrs. Thornimett hinted 
to me that I might be better some time for a trifle from 
her: but she has never alluded to it since; and I have not 
counted upon it.” 

“Then I can tell you— though it is revealing secrets 
beforehand — that you are the better to the tune of two 
thousand pounds.” 

“Two thousand pounds!” uttered Austin, in sheer 
amazement. “ How ever came she to leave me so much 
as that?” 

“Do you quarrel with it, young sir?” 

“No, indeed; I am deeply grateful. But I am sur- 
prised, nevertheless.” 

“She was a clever, clear-sighted woman, was Mrs. 
Thornimett,” observed Mr. Knapley. “Pll tell you 
about it— how it is you come to have so much. When I 
was taking directions for Mr. ThornimetPs will — more 


103 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


than ten 3^ears back now — a discussion arose befcvveen him 
and his wife as to the propriet}’ of leaving asurn of money 
to Austin Clay. A thousand pounds was the amount 
named. Mr. Thornimett was for leaving you in his wife’s 
hands, to let her bequeath it to you at her death; Mrs. 
Thornimett wished it should be left to you then, in the 
will I was about to make, that you might inherit it on 
the demise of Mr. Thornimett; he took his own course, 
and did not leave it, as you are aware.” 

I did not expect him to leave me anything,” inter- 
rupted Austin. 

My young friend, if you break in with these remarks 
I shall not get to the end of my story. After her hus- 
band’s burial, Mrs. Thornimett spoke to me. ^ I partic- 
ularly wished the thousand pounds left now to Austin 
Clay,’ she said, ‘ and 1 shall appropriate it to him at once.’ 
‘Appropriate it in what manner?’ Tasked her. ‘I should 
like to put it out to interest, that it may be accumulating 
for him,’ she replied, ‘so that at my death he may re- 
ceive both principal and interest.’ ‘ Then, if you live as 
long as it is to be hoped you will, Mrs. Thornimett, you 
may be bequeathing him two thousand pounds instead of 
one,’ I observed to her. ‘ Mr. Knapley,’ was her answer, 

‘ if I chose to bequeath him three, it is my own money 
that I do it with, and I am responsible to no one.’ She 
had taken my remark to be one of remonstrance, you see, 
in which spirit it was not made; had Mrs. Thornimett 
chosen to leave you the whole of her money she had been 
welcome to do it for me. ‘ Can you help me to a safe in- 
vestment for him?’ she resumed, and I promised to look 
about for it. The long and the short of it is, that I 
found both a safe and a profitable investment, and the 
one thousand pounds has swollen itself into two — as you 
will hear when the will is read.” 

“ I am truly obliged for her kindness, and for the 
trouble you have taken,” exclaimed Austin, with a glow- 
ing color. “ I never thought to get rich all at once,” he 
added. 

“You only be prudent and take care of it,” said Mr. 
Knapley; “be as wise in its use as I and Mrs. Thornimett 
have been. It is the best advice I can give you.” 

“It is good advice, I know, and 1 thank you for it,” 
warmly responded Austin. 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


108 

‘^Ay. I can tell yon that less than two thousand 
pounds has laid the foundation of many a great fortune/^ 

Austin fell into a reverie. He did not much care 
about great fortunes ” in the abstract; he made the very 
best use of the good talent given him by God, to work for 
his living, to achieve a position, to attain a competency 
for his old age; but for money, in itself, he had no great 
love. He was not ambitious to die worth a million;"^ 
be had the rare good sense to know that excess of 
means cannot bring excess of happiness. The richest 
man on earth cannot eat two dinners a day, or wear two 
coats at a time, or sit two thoroughbred horses at once, 
or sleep on two beds. What does he do with his riches. 
They must be a source of continual trouble to him. 
Riches cannot take a man to Heaven, or help him on his 
road thither. 

Austin Olay's ambition lay in becoming a powerful man 
of business; such men as were the Messrs. Hunter. He 
would like to have men' under him, of whom he should be 
the master; not to control them with an iron liand, to 
grind them to the dust, to hold them at a haughty dis- 
tance, as if they were of one species of humanity and he 
of another. No; he would hold intact their relative po- 
sitions of master and servant — none more strictly than he; 
but he would be their considerate friend, their firm advo- 
cate, regardful ever of their interests as he was of his own. 
He would like to have a capital sufficient for all necessary 
operations, that he might fulfill every obligation justly 
and honorably; so far money would be welcome to Austin. 
Very welcome did the two thousand pounds sound in his 
ears, for they might be the stepping-stone to this. Not 
to the great fortune" talked of by Mr. Knapley; 
he did not care for that. They might also be a stepping- 
stone to something else — the very thought of which 
caused his face to glow and his veins to tingle — the win- 
ning of Florence Hunter. That he would win her, Aus- 
tin's mind was firmly set upon. 

On the day previous to the funeral, Austin, in walking 
through the streets of Ketterford, found himself sud-. 
denly seized by the shoulder. A window had been thrown 
open, and a fair arm (to speak with the gallantry due to 
the sex in general, rather than that one arm in particular) 


104 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


was pushed out and laid upon him. His captor was Miss 
Gwinn. 

Come in/’ she briefly said. 

Austin would have been better pleased to avoid her, 
but as she had thus summarily caught him, there was no 
help for it; foi* to enter into a battle of contention with 
her might be productive of neither honor nor profit. He 
entered her sitting-room, and she motioned him to a 
cliair. 

So you did not intend to call upon me during your 
stay in Ketterford, Austin Clay?” 

The melancholy occasion on which I am here pre- 
cludes much visiting,” was his reply. And my sojourn 
will be a short one.” 

Don’t be a hypocrite, boy, and use those unmeaning 
words. ‘ Melancholy occasion!’ What did you care for 
Mrs. Thornimett, that her death should make you ‘ mel- 
ancholy?’ ” 

“ Mrs. Thornimett was my dear and valued friend,” ho 
returned, with emotion. “ There are few living whom I 
would not rather have spared. 1 shall never cease to 
regret the not having arrived in time to see her before she 
died.” 

“ What has Dr. Bevary told you of mo and my affairs?” 
she rejoined, passing abruptly to another subject. 

“Not anything,” replied Austin. He did not lift his 
eyes, and a scarlet flush dyed his brow as he spoke; nev- 
ertheless, it was the strict truth. Miss Gwinn noted the 
signs of consciousness. 

“ You can equivocate, I see.” 

“ Pardon me. I have not equivocated to you. Dr. 
Bevary has disclosed nothing; he has never spoken to me 
of your affairs. Why should he. Miss Gwinn?” 

“Your face told a different tale.” 

“ It did not tell an untruth, at any rate,” he said, with 
some hauteur. 

“ Do you never see Dr. Bevary?” 

“I see him sometimes.” 

“At the house of Mr. Hunter, I presume. How is 

sher 

Again the flush, whatever may have called it up, crim- 
soned Austin Clay’s brow. 

“I do not know of whom you speak,” he coldly said. 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


105 


'‘Of Mrs. Hunter."' 

“ She is in ill health." 

" 111 to be in danger of her life? I hear so." 

"It may be. I cannot say." 

"Do you know, Austin Clay, that I have a long, long 
account to settle with you?" she resumed after a pause. 
" Years and years have elapsed since, and I have never 
called upon you for it. Why should I?" she added, re- 
lapsing into a dreamy mood, and speaking to herself 
rather than to Austin; "the mischief was done, and 
could not be recalled. I sent up a note to you once at 
the Messrs. Hunter's inclosing one for my brother, who 
was in town, and asking you to give it him. Why did 
you not?" 

Austin threw back his recollection: though, indeed he 
retained only too vivid a remembrance of all that had 
taken place that morning. 

" I could not give it him. Miss Gwinn. When your 
letter reached me your brother had already been at the 
office of the Messrs. Hunter, and was then on his road 
back to Ketterford. The inclosure was burnt unopened." 

" Ay," she passionately uttered, throwing her arms up- 
ward in mental pain, as Austin had seen her do in days 
gone by, and holding commune with herself, regardless 
of his presence, " such has been my faith through life. 
Thwarted, thwarted on all sides. For years and years I 
had lived but in the hope of finding him; the hope of it 
kept life in me; and when the time came, and I did find 
him, and was entering upon my revenge, then this 
brother of mine, who has been the second bane of my ex- 
istence, stepped in and reaped the benefit. It was my 
fault. Why, in my exultation, did I tell him the man 
was found? Did I not know enough of his avarice, his 
deeds, to have made sure.that he would turn it to his own 
account? Why," she continued, battling with her hands 
at some invisible adversary, " was I born with this strong 
principle of justice within me? Why, because he stepped 
in with his false claims and drew gold — a fortune — of the 
man, did I deem it a reason for dropping my revenge? — 
for letting it rest in abeyance? In abeyance it is still; 
and its unsatisfied claims are wearing out my heart and 
my life " 

"Miss Gwinn," interrupted Austin, " I fancy you for- 


106 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


get that I am present. Your family affairs have nothing 
to do with me. I wish yon good-day. 

True. They have nothing to do with yon. I know 
not why I spoke before you, save that your sight angers 
me.” 

Why so?” Austin could not forbear asking. 

Because you live on terms of friendship with that 
maji. You are as his right hand in business; you are a 
welcome guest at his house; you regard and respect the 
house’s mistress. Boy! but that she has not willfully in- 
jured me, but that she is the sister of Dr. Bevaiy, I 
should ” 

“1 cannot listen to any discussion involving the name 
of Hunter,” spoke Austin, in a repellent, resolute tone, 
though the color had not left his cheeks. Allow me 
to wish you good-day.” 

An interruption came in the person of Lawyer Gwinn. 
He entered the room without his coat, a pen behind each 
ear, and a dirty straw hat on his head. It was probably 
his office attire in warm weather. 

I thought I heard a strange voice; how do you do, 
Mr. Clay?” he exclaimed, with much suavity. 

Austin bowed and said something to the effect that he 
was on the point of departing, and retreated to the door, 
bowing his final farewell to Mis^ Gwinn. Mr. Gwinn 
followed. 

‘‘Ketterford will have to congratulate you, Mr. Clay,” 
he said; understand you inherit a very handsome sum 
from Mrs. Thornimett.” 

'Hndeed,” frigidly replied Austin. ‘^Mrs. Thorni- 
mett’s will is not yet read. But Ketterford always 
knows everybody’s business better than its own.” 

‘^Look you, my dear Mr. Clay,” cried the lawyer, 
holding him by the button-hole, Should you require 
a most superior investment for your money — one tliat 
will turn you in cent, per cent, and no risk — 1 can help 
you to one. Should your inheritance be of the value of 
a thousand pounds, and you would like to double it — as 
all men of course do — just intrust it to me; I have the 
very thing now open.” 

Austin shook himself free — rather too much in the 
manner that he might have shaken himself from a ser- 
pent, 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


107 


Whether my inheritance may be of the value of one 
thousand pounds or of ten thousand, Mr. Owinn, I sliall 
not require your services in the disposal of it. Good- 
morning.'’^ 

The lawyer looked after him as he strode away. ^^So 
you carry it with a high hand to me, do you, my brave 
gentleman! with your vain person, and your fine clothes, 
and your imperious manner! Take you care! I hold 
your master under my thumb; I may next hold you!’^ 

‘•'The vile cockatrice!^^ ejaculated Austin to himself, 
walking- all the faster to leave the lawyer^’s house behind 
him. ‘‘She is bad enough, with her hankering after 
revenge, and her fits of passion; but she is an angel of 
light compared to him. Heaven help Mr. Hunter! It 
would have been sufficient to have had her to fight, but 
to have him! Ay, Heaven help him! Poor thing! 
there are times when I pity her! Incomprehensible as 
the story is to me, I can feel compassion; for it was a 
heavy wrong done her, looking at it in the best light. 
She is not at all bad; but for the wrong, and for her evil 
temper, she might have been all good. There is some- 
thing noble in the hint I gathered now from her lips, 
if it be true, that she suffered her own revenge to drop 
into abeyance, because her brother had pursued Mr. 
Hunter to drain money from him; she would not go 
upon him in both ways. Yes, it was noble and gener- 
ous."’^ 

The funeral of Mrs. Thornimett took place. She was 
laid beside her husband, there to repose peacefully till 
the last trump shall sound. On the return of the mourn- 
ers to the house, the will was read, and Austin found 
himself the undoubted possessor of two thousand pounds. 
Several little treasures, in the shape of books, drawings, 
and home knickknacks, were also left to him. He saw 
after the packing of these, and the day following the 
funeral returned to London. 

It was evening when he arrived; and he proceeded with- 
out delay to the house of Mr. Hunter — ostensibly to re- 
port himself, really to obtain a sight of Florence, for which 
his tired heart Avas yearning. The drawing-room was 
lighted up, by which he judged that they had friends with 
them. Mr. llunter met him in the hall; never did a vis- 
itor’s knock sound at his door but Mr. Hunter in hisnerv- 


108 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


ous restlessness strove to watch who it might be that 
entered. Seeing Austin, his face acquired a shade of 
brightness, and he came forward with an outstretched 
hand. 

But you have visitors, Austin said, when greetings 
were over, and Mr. Hunter was drawing him toward the 
stairs. He wore deep mourning, but was not in evening 
dress. 

^^As if anybody will care for the cut of your coat!^^ 
cried Mr. Hunter. ^^TheiVs Mrs. Hunter wrapped up in 
a woolen shawl.” 

The room was gay with light and dress, with many 
voices and with music. Florence was seated at the piano 
playing, and singing in a glee with others. Austin, 
silently greeting those whom he knew as be passed, made 
iiis way to Mrs. Hunter. She was wrapped in a warm 
shawl, as her husband had said; but she appeared better 
than usual. 

I am so glad to see you looking well,” Austin whis- 
pered, deep feeling in his tone. 

And I am glad to see you here again,” she smiled in 
reply, as she held his hand. We have missed you, 
Austin. Yes,. I feel better; but it is only a temporary 
improvement. So you have lost poor Mrs. Thornimett. 
She died before you could reach her.” 

‘‘She did,” replied Austin, with a grave face. “I 
wish we could get transported to places, in case of neces- 
sity, as quickly as the telegraph brings us news that we 
are wanted. A senseless and idle wish, you will say; but 
it would have served me in this case. She asked after 
me twice in her last half hour.” 

“Austin,” breathed Mrs. Hunter, “was it a happy 
death -bed? AVas she ready to go?” 

“Quite, quite,” he answered, a look of enthusiasm 
illumining his face. “ She had been ready long.” 

“Then we may praise God that she is taken. Oh, 
Austin, what a happy thing it must be to die! But you 
are young and hopeful; you cannot understand that, 
yet.” 

So, Mrs. Hunter had learned that great truth! Some 
years before, she had not so spoken to the wife of John 
Baxendale^ when she was waiting to be taken. It had 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


109 


come to her ere her time of trial — as the dying woman 
had told her it would. 

The singing ceased, and in the movement which it oc- 
casioned in the room, Austin left Mrs. Hunter^s side, and 
stood within the embrasure of the window, half hidden 
by the curtains. The air was pleasant on that warm 
summer night, and Florence, resigning her place at the 
instrument to some other lady, stole to the window to in- 
hale its freshness. There she saw Austin. She had not 
heard him enter the room — did not know, in fact, that 
he was back from Ketterford. 

Oh!” she uttered, in the sudden revulsion of feeling 
that the sight brought to her, “is it you?” 

He quietly took her hands in his, and looked down at 
her. Had it been to save her life, she could not have 
helped betraying emotion. Her face grew hot, her hands 
trembled, her heart beat wildly. 

“Are you glad to see me, Florence?” he softly whis- 
pered. 

She colored even to tears. Glad! The time might 
come when she should be able to tell him so; but that 
time was not yet. 

“ Mrs. Hunter is glad of my return,” he continued, in 
the same low tone, sweeter to her ear than all earthly 
music. “ She says I have been missed. Is it so, Flor- 
ence?” 

“And what have you been doing?” she asked, not 
knowing in the least what she said in her confusion, as 
she left his question unanswered, and drew her hands 
away from him. 

“ I have not been doing much, save the seeing a dear 
old friend laid in the earth. You know that Mrs. Thorn- 
imett is dead. She died before I got there.” 

“ Papa told us that. He heard from you two or three 
times, I think. How you must regret it! But why did 
they not send for you in time?” 

“ It was only the last day that danger was appre- 
hended,” replied Austin. “She grew worse suddenly. 
You cannot think, Florence, how strangely this gayety” 
— he half turned to the room— “ contrasts with the scenes 
I have left; the holy calm of her death-chamber, the lay- 
ing of her in the grave.” 

“ An unwelcome contrast, I am sure it must be.” 


110 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


jars on the mind. All scenes essentially of the 
world, let them be ever so necessary or useful, must do 
so, when contrasted with the solemn scenes of life’s close. 
But how soon we forget those solemn scenes, and live 
for the world again!” 

Austin,” she gently whispered, I do not like to talk 
of death. It reminds me of the dread that is ever op- 
pressing me.” 

*^She looks so much better as to surprise me,” was his 
answer, unconscious that it betrayed his undoubted cog- 
nizance of the dread ” she spoke of. 

If it would but last!” sighed Florence. To prolong 
mamma’s life, I think I would sacrifice mine.” 

‘^No, you would not, Florence — in mercy to her. If 
called upon to lose her you would grow reconciled to it; 
to do so is in the order of nature. She could not spare 
you.’’ 

Florence believed that she never could grow recon- 
ciled to it; she often wondered hoiu she could bear it, if 
called upon. But there rose up before her now, as she 
spoke with Austin, one cheering promise: ^^As thy day 
is, so shall thy strength be.” 

What should you say if I tell you I have come into a 
fortune?” resumed Austin, in a ligther tone. 

I should say But is it true?” broke off Flor- 

ence. 

^‘Not true, as you and Mr. Hunter would count fort- 
unes,” smiled Austin; but true, as poor I have looked 
upon them. Mrs. Thornimett has behaved to me most 
kindly, most generously; she has bequeathed to me two 
thousand pounds.” 

I am delighted to hear it,” said Florence, her glad 
eyes sparkling. Never call yourself poor again.” 

cannot call myself rich, as Mr. and Mrs. Hunter 
compute riches. But, Florence, it may be a stepping- 
stone to become so.” 

stepping-stone to become what?” demanded Dr. 
Bevary, breaking in upon the conference. 

Kich,” laughed Austin, turning to the doctor. I 
am telling Florence that I have come into some money 
since I went away.” 

Mr. Hunter and others were gathering around them, 
and th© conversation became general. 


Ill 


A LIFERS SECRET. 

What is that^ Olay?^' asked Mr. Hunter. You have 
come into a fortune, do you say?"^ 

^‘1 said, not into a fortune, sir, as those accustomed 
to fortune would estimate it. But it may prove a step- 
ping-stone to fortune and to — to other desirable things.'" 

“ Do not speak so vaguely," cried the doctor in his 
quaint fashion. “Define the ‘desirable things." ’" 

“ I am not sure that they have taken a sufficiently 
tangible shape to be defined as yet,"’ returned Austin, in 
the same tone. “ You might laugh at them for day- 
dreams."" 

Unwittingly his eyes rested for a moment upon Flor- 
ence. Did she deem the day-dreams might refer to her, 
that her eyelids should droop and her cheeks turn scarlet? 

Dr. Bevary noticed both the look and the signs; Mr. 
Hunter saw neither. 

“ Day-dreams would be enchanting as an eastern faiiy- 
tale, only that they never get realized,"" interposed one of 
the fair guests, with a pretty simper, directed to Austin 
Clay and his attractions. 

“ I will realize mine,"" he uttered, “ Heaven helping 
me!"" 

“A better stepping-stone that, to rely upon, than the 
money you have come into,"" said Dr. Bevary. 

“ True, doctor,"" replied Austin. “But may not the 
money have come from the same source? Heaven, you 
know, vouchsafes to work with humble instruments."" 

They quitted the house together, Austin and Dr. Bev- 
ary. The doctor walked arm-in-arm with him as far as 
Daffodil's Delight, when he wished him good-night, and 
continued his way home. Austin turned toward Peter 
Qli ale's. 

But, what could be the matter? Had Daffodil's De- 
light miscalculated the time, believing it to be day in- 
stead of night? Women leaned out of their windows in 
nightcaps; children crept out of their beds and came 
forth to tumble into the gutter naked, as some of them 
literally were; men crowded the doorway of the Brick- 
layers" Arms, stood about with pipes and pint pots; 
young girls were dancing polkas in the street, singing to 
the measure; -all were in a state of rampant excitement. 
Austin laid hold of the first person who appeared sober 


112 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


enough to listen to him. It happened to be a woman, 
Mrs. Dunn. 

'‘What is this?'^ he exclaimed. " Have you all come 
into a fortune?’^ the recent conversation at Mr. Hunter's 
probably helping him to the remark. 

"Better nor that,’"' shrieked Mrs. Dunn; and, as if 
the question had aroused within her the excitement 
which had for a moment been stilled, she jigged a jig to 
the tune of the dancing girls. " Better noY thaty a thou- 
sand times! We have circumvented the masters and got 
our ends, and now we shall just have all we want — roast 
goose and apple- pudding for dinner, and plenty of beer 
to wash it down with.^^ 

"But what is it that you have got?’^ persisted Austin, 
who was completely at sea. 

"Got! why, we have got the strike, she replied, in 
joyful excitement. "Trollope’s men struck to-day. 
Where have you been, not to have heerd on it?” 

At that moment a fresh crowd came jostling down 
Daffodil’s Delight, and Austin was parted from the lady. 
Indeed, she rushed up to the crowd to follow in their 
wake. Many other ladies were following in their wake — 
half Daffodil’s Delight, if one might judge by numbers. 
Shouting, singing, exulting, dancing; it seemed as if 
they had, for the nonce, gone mad. Sam Shuck, in his 
long-tailed coat, ornamented with its holes and its slits, 
was leading the van, his voice hoarse, his face red, his 
legs and arms executing a war-dance of exultation. He 
it was who had gotten up the excitement, and was keep- 
ing it up, shouting fiercely. " Glory be to us builders! 
Hurrah for the work of this day! Rule Brittanniar! 
Brittuns never shall be slaves! The strike has begun, 
friends! — H — o — o — o — o — o — r — rah! three cheers for 
the strike!” 

Yes. The strike had begun. 


CHAPTER XL 

The men of an influential metropolitan building firm 
had struck, because their employers had declined to ac- 
cede to certain demands, and Daffodil’s Delight was, as 
you have seen, in the seventh heaven of congratulation, 
particularly the female part of it, anticipating roast goose 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


118 


for dinner, and a crinoline apiece. The men said they 
struck for a diminution in the hours of labor; the mas- 
ters told them they struck for an increase of wages. 
Seeing that the non-contents wanted the hours reduced 
and 7iot the pay, it appears to me that you may call it 
which you like. 

The Messrs. Hunter’s men — with whom we have to do, 
for it was they who chiefly filled Daffodil’s Delight, 
though continuing their work as usual, were in a most 
unsettled state: as was the case in the trade generally. 
The under-current of discontent was growing higher. It 
might have died away peacefully enough, but that cer- 
tain spirits made it their business to fan it into a flame. 

One evening, a few days further on, Sam Shuck posted 
himself in an angle formed by the wall at the top of Daf- 
fodiTs Delight. It was the hour for the men to quit 
work; and, as they severally passed him on their road 
home, Sam’s arm was thrust forward, and a folded bit of 
paper put into their hands — a mysterious sort of missive, 
apparently; for, on opening the paper, it was found 
to contain only these words, in the long, sprawling hand 
of Sam himself: Barn at the back of Jim Dunn’s. 

Seven o’clock.” 

Behind, the house tenanted by the Dunns were premises 
occupied until recently by a cow-keeper. They comprised, 
amidst other accommodations, a large barn or shed. Being 
at present empty, and to let, Sam thought he could not do 
better than take French leave to make use of it. 

The men hurried over their tea or supper (some toolc 
one on leaving work for the night, some the other, soin o 
a mixture of both, and some neither), that they might at - 
tend to the invitation of Sam. Peter Quale was seato(l 
over a substantial dish of batter pudding, a bit of neck of 
mutton baked in the midst of it, when he was interrupted 
by the entrance of John Baxendale, who had stepped in 
from his own rooms next door. 

Be you a-going to this meeting, Quale!” he asked, as 
he took a seat. 

I don’t know anything about it,” returned Peter. I 
saw Slippery Sam a giving out papers, so I guessed there 
was something in the wind. He took care to pass over 
me; I expect I’m the greatest eyesore Sam has got just 


114 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


now. Have a bit?’^ added Peter, unceremoniously, point- 
ing to the dish before him with his knife. 

''No, thank ye: I have just had tea at home. That's 
the paper — laying it open on the table-cloth. "Sam 
Shuck is just now cock-a-hoop with this strike.” 

" He is no more cock-a-hoop than the rest of Daffo- 
dil’s Delight is,” stuck in Mrs. Quale, who had finished 
her own meal, and was at leisure to talk. " The men 
and women is all a-going mad together, I think, and 
Slippery Sam’s leading ’em. Suppose you all do strike 
—which is what they’re hankering after — what good’ll it 
bring?” 

"That’s just it,” replied Baxendale. "One can’t see 
one’s way clear. The agitation might do us some good, 
but it might do us a deal of harm. Quale, I’ll go to the 
meeting, if you will.” 

" If I go, it will be to give ’em a piece of my mind,” 
retorted Peter. 

"Well, it’s only right that different sides should be 
heard. Sam’ll have it all his own way, else.” 

"He’ll manage to get that, by the appearance things 
wears,” said Mrs. Quale, wrathfully. " How you men 
can submit to be led by such a fellow as him, just be- 
cause his tongue’s capable of persuading you that black’s 
white, is a marvel to me. Talk of women being soft! let 
the men talk of theirselves. Hold up a finger to ’em, 
and they’ll go after it: like the Swiss cows Peter read of 
the other day, a fiocking docilely in a line after their 
leader, behind each other’s tails.” 

" I wish I knew what was right,” said Baxendale. 
" Or which course would turn out best for us.” 

The barn filled. Sam Shuck, perched upon Mrs. 
Dunn’s washing-tub turned upside-down, which had been 
rolled in for the occasion, greeted each group as it ar- 
rived with a gracious nod. Sam appeared to be progress- 
ing in the benefits he had boasted to his wife he was to 
derive, inasmuch as that the dilapidated clothes had been 
discarded for better ones; and he stood on the tub’s end 
in all the glory of a black coat, a crimson necktie with 
lace ends, and peg-top pantaloons; the only attire (as a 
ready-made outfitting shop had assured him) which a 
gentleman could wear. §am’s eye grew less complaisant 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


115 


when it rested on Peter Quale, who was coming in with 
John Baxendale. 

This is a pleasure we didn’t expect,” said he. 

Maybe not,” returned Peter Quale, dryly, The 
barn’s open to all.” 

Of course it is,” glibly said Sam, putting a good face 
upon the matter. “ All fair and above board, is our 
mottor; which is more than them native enemies of ours, 
the masters, can say; they hold their meetings in secret, 
with closed doors.” 

“Not in secret — do they?” asked Kobert Darby. I 
have not heard of that.” 

‘They meet in their own homes, and they shut out 
strangers,” replied Sam. “Pd like to know what you 
call that but meeting in secret?” 

“ I should not call it secret; I should call it private. 
We might do the same. Our homes are ours, and we can 
shut out who we please.” 

“Of course we might,” contended Sam. “But we 
like better to be open; and if a few of us assemble to- 
gether to consult on the present aspect of affairs, we do 
it so that the masters, if they choose, may come and hear 
us. Things are not equalized in this world. Let us 
attempt secret meetings, and see how soon we should be 
locked up by the law, and accused of hatching treason, 
and sedition, and all the rest of it. That sharp-eyed 
Times newspaper would be the first to set on us. There’s 
one law for the masters, and another for the men.” 

“Is that Slippery Sam?” ejaculated a new-comer, at 
this juncture. “ Where did you get that fine new tog- 
gery, Shuck?” 

The irreverent interruption was spoken in simple sur- 
prise; no insidious meaning prompting it. Sam Shuck 
had appeared in ragged attire so long, that the change 
could not fail to be remarkable. Sam loftily turned a 
deaf ear to the remark,^ and continued: 

-‘I am sure most of you can’t fail to see that things 
have come to a crisis with our trade. And the moment 
that brought it was when that great building firm refused 
the reasonable demands of their men, and the consequence 
was a strike. Friends, I have been just riled ever since. 
I have watched you go to work day after day like tame 
cats, the same as if nothing had happened; and I have 


116 


A LIFE'S SECHET. 


said to myself: ^ Have those men of Hunters^ got souls 
within them, or have they got none?^^ 

I don^t suppose we have parted from our souls, struck 
in a voice. 

You have parted with the feelings of them, at any 
rate,^^ rejoined Sam, beginning to dance, but remember- 
ing in time that his terra firma was only a creaky tub. 
‘‘ What’s that you ask me? Have you parted with them? 
Why, by not following up the strike. If you had pos- 
sessed a grain of the independence of free men you’d have 
struck your colors before now: and other firms in the 
trade would have struck afterward. It’s the only way 
that will bring the masters to reason; the only way by 
which we can hope to obtain our rights.” 

You see, there’s no knowing what would be the end 
of a strike. Shuck,” argued John Baxendale. 

There’s no knowing what may be in the inside of a 
pie till you cut it open,” returned Jim Dunn. But 
’tain’t many as ’ud shrink from putting in the knife to 
see.” 

The room laughed, and greeted Jim Dunn with ap- 
plause. 

‘‘1 put it to you all,” resumed Sam, who took his share 
of laughter with the rest, whether there’s sense, or not, 
in what I say. Are we likely to get our grievances re- 
dressed by the masters, unless we force it? Never; not if 
we prayed our hearts out.” 

‘■‘Never,” and “never,” murmured sundry voices. 

“Whatt^re our grievances?” demanded Peter Quale, 
putting the question in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he 
really asked for information. 

“ Listen!” ejaculated Sam. “ He asks what our griev- 
ances are? They are many and great. Are we not kept to 
work like beasts of burden, ten hours a day? Does that 
leave us time for the recreation of our wearied bodies, 
for the improvement of our minds, for the education of 
our children, for the social home intercourse in the 
bosoms of our families? By docking the day’s labor to 
nffie hours— or to eight, which we shall get, may be, after 
awhile — it would leave us the extra hour, and be a bless- 
ing.” 

Sani carried the admiring room with him. That hard, 
disbelieving Peter Quale interrupted the clieering. 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


117 


A blessing, or the contrary, as it might turn ont,'^ 
cried he. ^^It^seasyto talk of education and self -im- 
provement, but how many is there as would use the 
accorded hour in that way?’’ 

'' Another grievance is our wages,” resumed Sam, 
drowning the words. We call ourselves men and Eng- 
lishmen, and yet we lie down contented with five-and- 
sixpence a day. Do you know what our trade gets iii 
Australia? Oh, you do, some of you, then I’ll tell those 
that don’t. From twelve to fifteen shillings a day; and 
even more than that. Tioelve sMllmgs! and that’s the 
minimum rate of pay,” slowly repeated Sam, lifting up 
his arm and one peg-top, to give empliasis to the words. 

A murmur of envy at the coveted rate of pay in Aus- 
tralia shook the room to the center. 

But the price of provisions and other necessaries is 
enormous in that quarter,” debated Abel White. So 
it may come to the same in the end — be about as broad 
as long; I have heard what is sometimes given for shoes 
there; but I’m afraid to say, it was so much. The wages, 
out there, can’t be any guide for us. 

‘^No, they can’t,” said Peter Quale. Australia is 
one place, and this is another. Where’s the use of bring- 
ing up that?” 

Oh, of course not,” sarcastically uttered Sam. 

Anything that tends to show we are put upon, and 
how we might be made more comfortable, it’s of no use 
bringing up. The long and the short of it is this: we 
want to" be regarded as meit; to have our voices consid- 
ered, and our plaints attended to; to be put altogether 
upon a better footing. Little enough is it we ask atpi’es- 
ent; only for a modicum of ease in our day’s hard labor, 
just the thin end of the wedge inserted to raise the 
weight. That’s all we are agitating for. It depends 
upon us whether we get it or not; display manly courage 
and join in the strike, and it is ours to-morrow.” 

The response did not come so quickly as Sam deemed 
it ought. He went on in a persuasive, ringing tone: 

Consider the wives of your bosoms; consider your lit- 
tle children; consider yourselves. Were yon born into the 
world to be slaves — blackamoors ground into the dust 
with toil? Never.” 


118 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


Never,’' uproariously echoed three parts of the 
room„ 

The mottor of a true man is, or ous^ht to be, ‘do as 
litile as you can, and get as much for it,' " danced Sam, 
in his enthusiasm, thereby nearly losing his perch on tlie 
tub. “ W ith an hour’s work less a day, and the afternoon 
holiday on the Saturday, we shall " 

“What's the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday? 
We don't want that, Sam Shuck." 

This ignominious interruption to the proceedings came 
from a lady. Buzzing round the entrance door and 
thrusting in their heads at a square hole, which might 
originally have been intended for a window, were a dozen 
or two of the gentler sex. This irregularity had not been 
unobserved by the chairman, who faced them; the chair- 
man's audience, densely packed, had their backs tlMit 
way. It was not an orthodox adjunct to a trade meeting, 
that was certain, and the chairman would have probably 
ordered the ladies away, had he deemed there was a 
chance of his getting obeyed; but too many of them had 
the reputation of being the gray mares. So he winked 
at the irregularity, and added one or two flourishes of 
oratory for their especial ears. The interruption came 
from Mrs. Cheek, Timothy Cheek's wife. 

“What's the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday? 
We don't want that, Sam Shuck! Just when we be up 
to our eyes in muck and cleaning, our places routed out 
till you can't see tlie color of the boards, for brooms and 
pails, and soap and water, and the chairs and things is 
all topsy-turvy, one upon another, so as the children have 
to be sent out to grub in the gutter, for there ain't no 
place for 'em in-doors, do you think we want the men 
poking their noses in? No; and they'd better not try it 
on; we should wish 'em at Jericho, and perhaps send 'em 
there. Women have got tempers given to 'em as well as 
you." 

“ And tongues, too," rejoined Sam, unmindful of the 
dignity of his office. 

“ It is to be hoped they have," reported Mrs. Cheek, 
not inclined to be put down; and her sentiments appeared 
to be warmly joined in by the ladies generally. “ Don't 
you men agitate for the Saturday's half-holiday. What 
'ud you do with it! just sot it away at the publics." 


A LIFE 'S SECRET. 


119 


Some confusion ensued; and the gentler sex were per- 
emptorily ordered to mind their own business, and make 
theirselves scarce.” When the commotion had subsided, 
a very respectable man took up the discourse — George 
Stevens. 

‘^The gist of the whole question is this,” he said: 

Will agitation do us good, or will it do us harm? We 
look upon ourselves as representing one interest; the 
masters consider they represent another. If it comes to 
open warfare between the two, the strongest Avould win.” 

^^In other words, whichever side^s funds held out the 
longest,” said Robert Darby. ‘‘That is as I look upon 

“Just so,” returned Stevens. “I cannot say, seeing 
no further than we can see at present, that a strike would 
be advisable.” 

“Stevens, do you want to better yourself or not?” 
asked Sam Shuck. 

“ I’d be glad enough to better myself, if I saw my way 
clear to do it,” was the reply. “ But I don’t.” 

“We don’t want no strikes,” struck in a shock-headed, 
hard-working man. “What is it we Avant to strike for? 
We have got plenty of work and full wages. A strike 
Avon’t fill our pockets. Them may wote for strikes that 
like ’em: I’ll keep to my work.” 

Partial applause. 

“It is as I said,” cried Sam. “There’s poor, mean- 
spirited creatures among you, as won’t risk the loss of a 
day’s pay for the commoi^good, or put out a hand to help 
the less fortunate. I’d rather be buried alive, five feet 
under the earth, than I’d show out so selfish.” 

“ What is the interest of one of us, is the interest of 
all,” returned StcA^ens. “And a strike, if we Avent into 
it, would either benefit us all, or make us all suffer. It 
is sheer nonsense to attempt to make out that one man’s 
interests are different from another’s; our interests are 
the same. I’d vote for striking to-morrow, if I were sure 
we Avould come out of it Avith Avhole skins, and get Avhat 
we struck for; but I must see that a bit clearer first.” 

“Hoav can we get it, unless Ave try for it?” demanded 
Sam. “ If the masters find we are all determined, they’ll 
give in to us. I appeal to you all ’’—raising his hands 


jL LIFE'S SECRET. 


1%6 

orer the room — ‘‘whether the masters can do without 

U£?” 

“ That has got to be seen/' said Peter Quale, signifi- 
cantly. “ One thing is obvious: we could not do without 
them." 

“Nor they without us — nor they without us," struck 
in several voics. 

“Then why shilly-shally about the question of a 
strike?" asked Sam, in a glib tone of reason. “If a 
universal strike were on, the masters would pretty soon 
make terms that would end it. Why, a six months' 
strike would drive half of them into the Gazette.” 

“ But it might drive us into the workhouse at the 
same time," interrupted John Baxendale." 

“Let me finish," went on Sam; “it’s not polite to 
take up a man in the middle of a sentence. I say that a 
six-months' strike would send many of the masters to the 
bankruptcy court. There has been a question debated 
among ns" — Sam lowered his voice — “whether it would 
not be policy to let things go on quietly, as they are, till 
next spring " 

“A question among who?" interposed Peter Quale, re- 
gardless of the reproof just administered to John Baxen- 
dale. 

“Never you mind who," returned Sam, with a wink; 
“among those that are hard at work for your interest. 
With their contracts for the season signed, and their 
works in full progress, say about next May, then would 
be the time for a strike to tell upon the masters. How- 
ever, it has been thought better not to delay it; the 
future's but an uncertainty; the present is ours, and so 
must the strike be. Have you wives?" he pathetically 
continued:; ^^have you children? have you spirits of your 
own? Then you will all with one accord go in for the 
strike." 

“But what are our wives and children to do while 
the strike is on?" asked Eobert Darby. “ You say your- 
self it might last six months. Shuck. Who would sup- 
port them?" 

“Who?" rejoined Sam, with an indignant air, as if the 
question was a superfluous one. “Why the Trades' 
Union, of course. That’s all settled. "The Union is 
prepared to take care of all who arc out on a strike, stand- 


A LIFERS SECRET. Igl 

ing np, like Britons, for their privileges, and keep ^em 
like fighting-cocks. Hoorar for tliat blessed boon, the 
Trades’ Unions!” 

‘"Hurrar for the Trades’ Unions!” was shouted in 
chorus. ‘^Keep us like fighting-cocks, will they? 
Iloorar!” 

‘"A murrain light upon the Trades’ Unions!” burst 
forth a dissenting voice. They are tlie greatest pests 
as ever was allowed in a free country.” 

The opposition caused no little commotion. Standing 
by tlie door, having pushed his way through the sur- 
rounding women, who had 7iot made themselves scarce,” 
was a man in a flannel jacket, with a cap in his hand, 
and his head white with mortar. He was looking as ex- 
cited as he spoke. 

This is not regular, ’’spoke Sam Shuck, with authority. 

You have no business here; you don’t belong to us.” 

Eegular or irregular. I’ll speak my mind,” was the 
answer. I have been at work for Jones the builder, 
down yonder. I have done my work steady and proper, 
and I have had my pay. A man comes up to me yester- 
day and says, ^ You must join the Trades’ Union.’ ^ No,’ 
says I, ^ I shan’t. I don’t want nothing of the Trades’ 
Union, and the Union don’t want nothing of me.’ So 
they goes to my master. ‘If you keep on employing this 
man, your other men will strike,’ they says to him, and 
he, being in a small way, got intimidated, and sent me 
oil to-day. And here I am, throwed out of work, and I 
have got a sick wife and nine young children to keep. 
Is that justice? or is it tyranny? Talk about emanci- 
pating the slaves! let us emancipate ourselves at home.” 

“ Why don’t you join the Union?” cried Sam. “All 
do, who are good and true.” 

“All good men and true returned the man. 

“ Many of the best workmen among us won’t have any- 
thing to do with Unions; and you know it. But if I 
would, I can’t. To join it, I must pay five shillings, and 
I have not got them to pay. With such a family as mine 
you may guess that every shilling is forestalled afore it 
comes in. I kept myself to myself, doing my work in 
quiet; and interfering with nobody. Why should they 
interfere with me?” 


m 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


If yon have been in full work, five shillings is not much 
to pay to the Union, sneered Sam. 

‘‘ Jf I had my pockets filled with five-shilling pieces, I 
would not pay one to it,^^ fearlessly retorted the man. 

Is it right that a free-born Englishman should give in 
to such a system of intimidaticn? No; I never will. You 
talk of the masters being tyrants; it^s you who are the 
tyrants, one to anoth^*. AVhat is one workman better 
than his fellow, that he should lay down laws and sa}^, 
you shall do this, and you shall do that, or you sha’n^t be 
allowed to work? I can tell you what — turning his eyes 
on the room — the Trades-Unions have been called a pro- 
tection to the workingman; but, if 3^011 don't take care, 
they'll grow into a curse. When Sarn Shuck, and other 
good-for-naughts like him, what never did a full week's 
work for their families yet, are paid in gold and silver to 
spread incendiarism among you, it's time you looked to 
yourselves." 

He turned away as he spoke; and Sam, in a dance of 
furious passion, danced off his tub. The interlude had 
not tended to increase the feeling of the men in Sam's 
favor — that is, in the cause he advocated. Indiscrimi- 
nate talking ensued; diverse opinions were disputed; and 
the men dispersed as they came, nothing having been 
resolved upon. A few set their faces resolutely against 
the proposed strike; a few were red-hot for it; but the 
majority were undecided, and liable to be swayed either 
way. 

It will come," nodded Sam Shuck, as he went home 
to a supper of pork chops and gin-and-water. 

But Sam was destined to be — as he would have ex- 
pressed it — circumvented. It cannot be supposed that 
this unsatisfactory state of things was unnoticed by the 
masters; and they took their measures accordingly. 
Forming themselves into an association, they discussed 
the measures best to be adopted, and determined upon a 
lockout; that is, to close their yards until the firm whose 
workmen had struck should resume work; they also re- 
solved to employ only those men who would sign an 
agreement, or memorandum, affirming tliat they were 
not connected with any society which interfered with the 
arrangements of the master whose service they entered, 
or with the hours of labor, and acknowledging the rights 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


m 


both of masters and men to enter into any »trade arrange- 
ments on which they might mutually agree. This paper 
of agreement was not relished by the men at all; they 
styled it the odious document.-’^ Neither was the 
lockout relished; it was of course equivalent in one sense, 
to a strike; only that the initiative had come from the 
masters' side, and not from theirs. It commenced early 
in August. Some of the masters closed their works with- 
out aw’ord of explanation to their men; in one sense it 
was not needed, for they knew of the measure beforehand. 
Mr. Hunter chose to assemble them together, and state 
what he was about to do. Somewhat of his old energy 
appeared to have been restored to him for the moment, 
as he stood before them and spoke — Austin Clay by his 
side. 

‘‘You have brought it upon yourselves," he said, in 
answer to a rem;irk from one who boldly, but respect- 
fully asked, whether it was fair to resort to a lock-out, 
and so punish all alike, contents and non-contents. “I 
will meet the question upon your own grounds. When the 
Messrs. Trollope's men struck because their demands, to 
work nine hours a day, were not acceded to, was it not in 
contemplation that you should join them — that the strike 
should be universal? Come, answer me candidly?" 

The men, true and honest, did not deny it. 

“And possibly by this time you might have struck," 
said Mr. Hunter. “How much more ‘fair' would that 
have been toward us than this locking-out is toward you? 
Do you think that you alone are to meet and pass your 
laws, and say you will coerce the masters, and that the 
masters will not pass laws in return? Nonsense, my 
men!" 

A pause. 

“ When have the masters attempted to interfere with 
your privileges, either by saying that your day's toil shall 
consist of loiiger hours, or by diminishing your wages, 
and threatening to turn you off if you do not comply? 
Never. Masters have rights as well as men; but some of 
you, of late, have appeared to ignore the fact. Let me 
ask you another question: Were you well treated under 
me, or were you not? Have I shown myself solicitous for 
your interests, for your welfare? Have I ever oppressed 
you, ever put upon you?" 


124 


A LIPE^S SECRET, 


No, Mr. Hunter had never sought to oppress them: 
they acknowledged it freely. He had ever been a good 
master. 

My men, let me give you my opinion. While con- 
demning your conduct, your semblance of discontent — 
it has been semblance, rather than reality — I have been 
sorry for you, for it is not with you that the chief blame 
lies. You have suffered evil persuaders to get to your 
ears, and have been led . away by their pernicious coun- 
sels. The root of the evil lies there. I wish you could 
bring your own good sense to bear upon these points, and 
to see with your own eyes. If so, there will be nothing 
to prevent our resuming together amicable relations; and 
for my own part, I care not how soon the time shall 
come. The works are for the present closed.’' 

CHAPTEE XII. 

Daffodil’s Delight was in all the glory of the lock- 
out. The men having nothing to do, improved their time 
by enjoying themselves; they stood about the street or 
lounged at their doors, smoking short pipes and quaffing 
draughts of beer. Let money run ever so short, you will 
generally see that the beer and the pipes can be found. 
As yet, the evils of being out of work were not felt; for 
weekly pay, sufficient for support, was supplied them by 
the Union Committee. The men were in high spirits — 
in that sort of mood implied by the words Never say 
die,” which was often in their mouths. They expressed 
themselves determined to hold out; and this determina- 
■ tibn was continually fostered by the agents of the Union, 
of whom Sam Shuck was a chief. Many of the more 
temperate, who had not particularly urged the strike, 
were warm supporters now of the general opinion, for 
they regarded the lockout as an unwarrantable piece of 
tyranny on the part of the masters. As to the ladies, 
they were over-warm partisans, generally speaking; they 
made the excitement, the unsettled state of Daffodil’s De- 
light, an excuse for their own idleness (they are only too 
ready to do so), and collected in groups round the men, 
or squatted themselves on door-steps, proclaiming their 
opinion of existing things, and boasting that they'd hold 
out for their rights till death. 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


125 


Seated in a chair at the bottom of her garden, just 
within the gate, was Mary Baxendale. Not that she was 
thereto join the gossip of the women, or had any in- 
tention of joining in it; she was simply sitting there for 
air. 

Mary Baxendale was fading. Never very strong, she 
had, for the last year or two, been gradually declining, 
and, with the excessive heat of the past summer, her re- 
maining strength appeared to have gone out. Her occu- 
pation, that of a seamstress, had not tended to keep her 
in health; she had a great deal of work offered her, her 
skill being superior, and she had sat at it early and late. 
Mary was very good, very conscientious, and she was 
anxious to contribute a full share to the home support. 
Her father had married again, had now two young chil- 
dren, and it almost appeared to Mary as if she were an 
interloper in the paternal home. Not that the new Mrs. 
Baxendale made her feel this; she was a bustling, hearty 
woman, fond of show and spending, and of setting off 
her babies; but she was kind to Mary. 

The capability of exertion appeared to be past, and 
Mary's days were chiefly spent in a quiescent state of rest, 
frequently sitting out-of-doors. This day — it was now 
the beginning of September — was an unusually bright 
one, and she drew her invalid shawl round her, and leaned 
back in her seat, looking out on the lively scene, at the 
men and women congregated in the road, and inhaling 
the fresh air, at least, as fresh as it could be got in Daf- 
fodil’s Delight. 

How do you feel to-day, Mary?" 

The questioner was Mrs. Quale. She had come out of 
her hous'e in her bonnet and shawl, bent on some errand, 
and stopped to accost Mary. 

""I am pretty well to-day; that is, I should be, if it 
were not for the weakness." 

Weakness, ay!" cried Mrs._ Quale, in a snapping sort 
of tone. And what have you had this morning to for- 
tify you against the weakness?" 

A faint blush rose to Mary's thin face. The subject 
was a sore one in the mind of Mrs. Quale, and that lady 
was not one to spare such with her tongue. The fact 
was, that at the present moment, and for some time past, 
Mary's condition and appetite had required unusual nour- 


136 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


ishment; but, since the lock-out, this had not been pro- 
curable by John Baxendale, Sufficient food the house- 
hold had as yet, but it was of a plain, coarse sort, not 
suitable for Mary; and Mrs. Quale, bitter enough against 
the existing condition of things before, touching the men 
and their masters, was not, by this, rendered less so. 
Poor Mary, in her patient meekness, would have subsided 
into her grave with famine, rather than complain of 
what she saw no help for. 

Did you have an egg at eleven o’clock?’^ 

“ Not this morning. I did not feel greatly to care for 
it.’" 

'^Eubbish!” responded Mrs. Quale. may say I 

don’t care for the moon, because I know I can’t get it.” 

‘^But I really did not feel to have any appetite just 
then,” repeated Mary. 

And if you had a appetite, I suppose you couldn’t 
have been any the nearer satisfying it! You let your 
stomach get empty, and after a bit the craving goes off 
and sickness comes on, and then you say you have no ap- 
petite. But there! ’taint your fault; where’s the use of 
my ” 

Why, Mary, girl, what’s the matter?” 

The interruption to Mrs. Quale proceeded from Dr. 
Bevary. He was passing the gate with Miss Hunter. 
They stopped at sight of Mary. Mrs. Quale took up the 
discourse. 

She don’t look over-flourishing, do she, sir? — do she. 
Miss Florence? She have been as bad as this — oh, for a 
fortnight now.” 

Why did you not send my uncle word, Mary?” spoke 
Florence, impulsive in the cause of good as she had been 
when a child. I am sure he would have come to see 
you.” 

''You are very kind, miss, and Dr. Bevary, also,” said 
Mary. "I could not think of troubling him with my 
poor ailments, especially as I feel it would be useless. I 
don’t think anybody can do me good on this side of the 
grave, sir.” 

"Tush, tush!” interposed Dr. Bevary. 

"That’s what many sick people say; but they get well 
in spite of it. Let us see you a bit closer.” 

He went inside the gate, and casually examined her; 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


n, 

felt her pulse, her chest, her skin; looked at her fixedly, 
especially at the inside of her eyelids. How do you 
feel?^' he asked standing before her, when it was over. 

What are your symptom s?^^ 

I am just sinking, sir, as it seems to me; sinking out 
of life, without much ailment to tell of. I have a great 
deal of fever at night, and a dry cough. It is not so 
much consumption as — 

Who told you it was consumption?^^ interrupted Dr. 
Bevary. 

The women about here call it so, sir. My step-mother 
does; but I should say it was more of a waste. 

Your step-mother is fond of talking of what she can 
know nothing/^ remarked Dr. Bevary. ^‘Neither can 
the women. Have you much appetite?*' 

‘‘ Yes, and that's the evil of it," struck in Mrs. Quale, 
determined to lose no opportunity of propounding her 
view of the case. A pretty time this is for folks to 
have appetites, when there's not a copper being earned. 
I wish all strikes and lockouts was put down by law, I 
do. Nothing comes out of 'em but empty cubbarts." 

“ Your cupboard need not be any the emptier for a 
lockout," said Dr. Bevary, who sometimes, when con- 
versing with the women of Daffodil’s Delight, would fall 
familiarly into their mode of speech." 

No, thank goodness; we have been providenter than 
that, sir," returned Mrs. Quale. A pity but what 
others could say the same. You might take a walk 
through Daffodil's Delight, sir, from one end of it to the 
other, and not find half a dozen cubbarts with plenty in 
'em just now. Serve 'em right! they should put by for 
a rainy day." 

^^Ah!" returned Dr. Bevary, rainy days come to most 
of us as wo go through life, in one shape or other. It is 
well to provide for them." 

And it's well to keep out of 'em, where it's practica- 
ble," wrathfully remarked Mrs. Quale. There no more 
need have been this disturbance between masters and 
men, than there need be one between you and me, sir, 
this .moment, afore you walk away. They be just idiots, 
are tlie men; and the women be worse, and I am tired of 
telling ’em so. Look at 'em," added Mrs. Quale, direct- 
ing the doctor's attention to tlie female ornaments of 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


m 

Daffodil’s Delight. '^Look at their gowns, in jags, and 
their dirty caps! they make the men’s being out of work 
an excuse for their idleness, and they just stick them- 
selves out there all day, a-crowing and a-gossiping.” 

Crowing!” exclaimed the doctor. 

Crowing; every female one of ’em, like a cock upon 
its dunghill,” responded Mrs. Quale. “ There isn’t one 
as can see an inch beyond her own nose. If the lock-out 
lasts, and starvation comes, let ’em see how they’ll crow 
then— it’ll be on t’other side of their mouths, I fancy!” 

Money is dealt out to them by the Trades’ Union, suf- 
ficient to live,” observed Dr. Bevary. 

Sufficient not to starve,” returned Mrs. Quale. 

AVhat is it, sir, to them as have enjoyed their thirty- 
five shillings a- week, and could hardly make that do, 
some of ’em. Look at the Baxendales. There's Mary, 
wanting more than she does in health; ay, and craving 
for it. A good bit of meat once or twice in the da}^ an 
egg now and then, a cup of cocoa and milk, or good tea 
— not wishy-washy stuff, bought in by the ounce — how is 
she to get it all? The allowance dealt out to John Bax- 
endale keeps ’em in bread and cheese; I don’t think it 
does in much else.” 

They were interrupted by John Baxendale himself. 
He came out of his house, touching his hat to the doctor 
and to Florence. The latter had been leaning over 
Mary, inquiring softly into her ailments, and the com- 
plaint of Mrs. Quale, touching the short-comings of 
Mary’s comforts, had not reached her ears. 

“ I am sorry, sir, you should see her so poorly,” said 
Baxendale, alluding to his daughter. She’ll get bet- 
ter, I hope.” 

I must try what a little of my skill will do toward 
it,” replied the doctor. ^'If she had sent me word she 
was ill, I would have come before.” 

Thank ye, sir. I don’t know as I should have been 
backward in asking you to come round and take a look at 
her; but a man don’t like to ask favors when he has got 
no money in his pocket; it makes him feel little, and look 
little. Things are not in a satisfactory state with us all 
just now.” 

“ They are not indeed.” 

^‘1 never thought the masters would go to the extreme 


- A LIFERS SECRET. 129 

of a lockout,” resumed Baxendale. was a harsh 

measure.” 

On the face of it it does seem so,” responded Dr. 
Bevary. ‘‘ But what else could they have done? Have 
kept open their shops, that those out of work might have 
been supported from the wages they paid their men, and 
probably have found those men also striking at last? If 
you and others had wanted to escape a lockout, Baxen- 
dale, you should have been cautious not to lend yourselves 
to the agitation that was smoldering.” 

Sir, I know there’s a good deal to be said on both 
sides,” was the reply. I never was for the agitation or 
the strike; I set my face nearly dead against it. The 
worst is, we all have to suffer for it alike.” 

^‘Ay, that is the worst of things in this world,” re- 
sponded the doctor. When people do wrong the con- 
sequences are rarely confined to themselves, but are spread 
over the innocent. Come, Florence. I will see you again 
later, Mary.” 

Mrs. Quale had already departed on her errand. John 
Baxendale turned to his daughter. He was always a 
kind man, Mary. I hope he’ll be able to do you good.” 

I don’t feel that he will, father,” was the low an- 
swer. But Baxendale did not hear it; he was going out 
at the gate to join a knot of neighbors who were gathered 
together at a distance. 

^‘Will Mary Baxendale soon get well, do you think, 
uncle?” demanded Florence. 

‘^No, my deaF, I do not think she will.” 

There was something in the doctor’s tone that startled 
Florence. 

Uncle Bevary I you do not fear she will die?” 

I do fear it, Florence; and that she will not be long 
first.” 

Oh!” Then after she had gone a few paces further, 
Florence withdrew her arm from his. must go back 
and stay with her a little while, uncle. I had no idea of 
this.” 

Mind you don’t repeat it to her in your chatter,” 
called out the doctor; and Florence shook her head by 
way of answer. 

*'1 am in no hurry to go home, Mary; I thought I 


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would return and stay a little longer with you/^ was her 
greeting. ‘‘ You must feel it dull, sitting here alone.” 

“Dull! oh, no. Miss Florence; I like sitting by myself 
and thinking.” 

Florence smiled. 

“What do you think about?” 

“ Oh, miss, I quite lose myself in thinking. I think 
of^my Saviour, and I think of the blessed life after this 
life — a place of rest, of love, of peace; I can hardly be- 
lieve that I shall soon be’ there.” 

Florence paused. 

“ You do not seem to fear death, Mary. You speak 
rather as if you wished it.” 

“I do not fear it. Miss Florence. Ever since mother 
went, I have been, like, preparing for it. Besides, only 
think how much sorrow and trouble there is in this 
world.” 

“ It is very strange,” murmured Florence. “ Mamma, 
too, believes she is near death, and she expresses no re- 
luctance, no fear; I do not think she feels any. 

“ Miss Florence, it is only another proof of God’s mer- 
cies; mother used to say so. Those whom the Saviour 
loves he gradually weans from this world, causing them 
to see death as it really is — a blessing, instead of a terror, 
if their hearts are right; so -that wlien the time comes, 
they are glad to die. There’s a gentleman waiting to 
speak to you, miss.” 

Florence lifted her head hastily, and encountered the 
smile and the outstretched hand of Austin Clay. But 
that Mary Baxendale was unsuspicious, she might have 
gathered something from the vivid blush that overspread 
her cheeks. 

“ I thought it was you, Florence. I caught sight of 
a young lady from my sitting-room window; but you 
kept your head down before Mary.” 

“ I am sorry to see Mary looking so ill. My uncle was 
here just now, but he has gone. I suppose you were 
deep in your books?” she said, with a smile, her face re- 
gaining its less radiant hue. “This lockout must be a 
fine time for you.” 

“ So fine that I wish it were over,” he answered. “ I 
am sick of it already, Florence. A fortnight’s idleness 
will tire out a man worse than a month’s work.” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


181 


Is there any more chance of its coming to an end, 
sir?” anxiously inquired Mary Baxendale. 

I do not see it,” gravely replied Austin. The men 
appear to be too blind to come to any reasonable terms.” 

Oh, sir, donT cast more blame to them than you can 
help!” she rejoined in a tone of intense pain. They 
are led away by the Trades^ Unions; they are indeed. If 
once they enroll under them, they must obey their 
behests.” 

y Well, Mary, it comes to what I say — that they are 
blinded. They should have better sense than to be led 
away.” 

You speak as a maste^, sir,” 

Probably I do; but I have brought my common sense 
to bear upon the question, both on the side of the mas- 
ters and of the men; and I believe that this time the men 
are wrong. If they labored under any real grievance, it 
would have been ditferent; but they did not. Their 
wages were good, work was plentiful ” 

At this moment Mrs. Baxendale threw up the first-floor 
window, and called out: 

I say, Mary, I wish yoiPd just come in and sit by the 
little ones a bit, while 1 go down to the back kitchen 
and rinse out the clothes.” 

Mary rose, taking up her pillow in her hand, wished 
good-day to Florence, and went in-doors. Austin held 
open the gate for Florence to pass out. She stood a mo- 
ment speaking to him after he had closed it, when some 
one came up and laid his hand upon Austin's arm. 

It was Lawyer Gwinn, of Ketterford. He had turned 
into Daffodil’s Delight, and walked straight up to Aus- 
tin at a quick pace, apparently in some anger or excite- 
ment. 

Young Clay, where is your master to-day?” 

Neither the salutation nor the manner of the man 
pleased Austin; his appearance, there and then, espe- 
cially displeased him. His answer was spoken in haughty 
coldness — not in policy — and in a cooler moment Austin 
would have remembered that. 

‘^Am I Mr. irunter's keeper — if it be of him you speak 
— that you should seek to pry into his movements through 
me?” 

A strangely bitter smile of conscious power parted the 


183 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


matins lips. So you take part with him, do you, sir? 
It may be better, both for you and him, that you bring 
me face to face with him. They have denied me to him 
at his house; their master is out of town, they say; but 
I know it to be a lie; I know that the message was sent 
out to me by Hunter himself. I had a great mind to 
force ” 

Florence, who was deadly white, interrupted, her voice 
haughty as Austin’s had been. 

You labor under a mistake, sir. Papa is out of 
town. He went this morning.^’ 

Mr. Giwinn wheeled round to her; neither her tone nor 
Austin’s was calculated to abate his anger. 

“You are his daughter, then!” he uttered, with the 
same insolent stare, the same displayed irony he had once 
used to her nmther. “ The young lady whom people 
envy as Miss Hunter! What if I tell you a secret — that 
you have no ” 

“ Be still,” shouted -Austin. “ Are you a man or a 
demon? Miss Hunter, allow me,” he cried, grasping 
the hand of Florence, and drawing her peremptorily 
toward Peter Quale’s door, which he threw open. “ Go 
up-stairs, Florence, to my room; wait there until I come 
to you. I must be alone with this man.” 

Florence looked at him in amazement, as he pushed 
her into the passage. He was evidently in the deepest 
agitation; every vestige of color had forsaken his face, 
and his manner was authoritative as any father’s could 
have been. She bowed to its power unconsciously, not a 
thought of resistance crossing her mind, and went 
straight up-stairs to his sitting-room — although it was 
not precisely orthodox for a young lady so to do. Not a 
soul, save herself, appeared to be in the house. 

A short colloquy and an aiigry one, and then Mr. 
Gwinn was .returning the way he came, and Austin was 
springing up the stairs, five at a time. 

“ AYill you forgive me, Florence? I could not do 
otherwise.” 

What with the suddenness of the proceedings, their 
strangeness, and her own doubts and emotion, Florence 
burst into tears. Austin — lost his head. In the agita- 
tion of the moment he suffered his long-controlled feel- 


183 


A LIFERS SECRET. 

ings to get the better of him, and spoke words that he 
had long successfully repressed within him. 

My darling!’^ he whispered, taking her hands, I 
wish I could have shielded you from it! Florence, you 
know — you must long have known — that my dearest ob- 
ject in life is you — your happiness, your welfare. I had 
not intended to say this so soon; it has been forced from 
me; you must pardon me for saying it here and now.” 

She gently disengaged herself: and he allowed it. Her 
wet eyelashes fell on her blushing cheeks like a damask 
rose glistening with the morning dew. But this mys- 
tery? — it does seem one,” she exclaimed. Is not that 
man Gwinn, of Ketterford?” 

^^Yes.” 

Brother to the lady who seemed to cause so much 
emotion to papa. Ah! I was but a child at the time, but 
I noticed it. Austin, I think there must be some dread- 
ful secret. What is it? He comes to our house at 
periods, and is closeted with papa, and papa is more mis- 
erable than ever after it.” 

'AVhether there is, or is not, it is not for us to inquire 
into it. I hastened you in,” he quickly went on, not 
caring to be more explanatory, and compelled to speak 
with evasion. “ I know the man of old, and his language 
is sometimes coarse, not fitted for a young lady's ears; so 
I sent you in. Florence,” ha whispered, his tone chang- 
ing to one of the deepest tenderness. ‘‘1 shall win you 
if I can. I have your leave?” 

She made no answer; only ran down the stairs. Austin 
laughed as he followed her. Mrs. Quale was coming in 
then, and met them at the door. She looked astonished. 

See what it is to go gadding out?” cried Austin to 
lier. When young ladies pay you the honor of a morn- 
ing visit, they might find an empty house, but for my 
stay-at-home propensities.” 

Mrs. Quale turned her eyes from one to the other of 
them, in doubt how much was joke. 

‘^The truth is,” said Austin, vouchsafing an explana- 
tion, there was a rude man in the road, talking non- 
sense, so I sent Miss Hunter in-doors, and stopped to deal 
with him.” 

‘‘I am sure I am sorry. Miss Florence!” cried unsus- 
picious Mrs. Quale. But, bless 3^11! we often haveYude 


184 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


men in this quarter; they get hold of a drop too much, 
and when the Winer’s in the wit's out, you know, miss." 

Austin piloted her home through Daffodil’s Delight, 
walking by her side; possibly lest any more rude men " 
should molest her. 

In the dusk of that eyening he was sitting alone with 
Mrs. Hunter. Mr. Hunter had not returned; for, that 
he had gone out of town for the day was perfect truth. 
Florence had escaped as Austin came in. 

It has been my hope for years," he was earnestly say- 
ing, as he held Mrs. Hunter’s hands, in giving the ex- 
planation. Dear Mrs. Hunter, do you think he will 
give her to me?" 

But, Austin " 

^‘Not yet; I do not ask for her yet, not until I have 
made a fitting home for her," he impulsively continued, 
anticipating what may have been the possible objection 
of Mrs. Hunter. With the two thousand pounds left 
to me by Mrs. Thornimett, and a little more added to it, 
which I have myself saved, I believe I shall be able to 
make my way." 

‘^Austin, you will make your way," she replied, in a 
tone of the utmost confidence and kindness.* ^^I have 
heard Mr. Hunter himself anticipate a successful career 
for you. Even when you were, comparatively speaking, 
penniless, Mr. Hunter would say that talent and energy 
such as yours could not fail to find its proper outlet. 
Now that yon have inherited the money, your success is 
certain. But — I fear that you cannot win Florence." 

The words fell on his heart like an ice-bolt. He had 
reckoned upon Mrs. Hunter’s countenance, though he 
had not been sure of her husband’s. What do you ob- 
ject to in me?" he inquired in a tone of pain. 

Austin, I do not object. I have long seen that your 
coming here so much— and it was Mr. Hunter’s pleasure 
to have you — was likely to lead to an attachment between 
you and Florence. Had I objected to yon, I should have 
pointed out to Mr. Hunter the impolicy of your coming. 
I like you: there is no one in the world to whom I would 
so readily intrust the happiness of Florence. Other 
mothers might look to a higher alliance for her; but, 
Austin, when we get near the grave we judge with a 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


185 


judgment not of this world. Worldly distinctions lose 
their charm. 

Then, where is the doubt he asked, 
once — it is not ions: ago — hinted at this to Mr. 
Hunter/^ she replied. He would not hear me out; lie 
would not suffer me to conclude. It was an utter impos- 
sibility that you could ever marry Florence, he said; 
neither was it likely that either of you would wish it.^’ 
But we do wish it; the love has already arisen,^’ he 

exclaimed, in agitation. “Hear Mrs. Hunter ” 

“Hush, Austin! calm yourself. Mr. Hunter must 
have some private objection: and 1 never inquire into his 
motives. You must try and forget her.^’ 

A commotion in the hall. Austin went out to ascer- 
tain its cause. There stood Gwinn, of Ketterford, insist- 
ing upon seeing Mr. Hunter. 


CHAPTEE XIIL 

A GLOOMY Winters's evening. No that, reckoning by 
seasons, it could bo called winter yet; but it was getting 
on for it, and the night was dark and sloppy, and blow- 
ing and rainy. The wind was blowing down DaffodiTs 
Delight, sending the fierce rain before it in showers, and 
the pools gleamed in the reflected light of the gas-lamps, 
as wayfarers splashed through them and stirred up their 
muddy waters. 

The luxurious and comfortable in position — those at 
ease in the world, who could issue their orders to the at- 
tentive trades-people at their morning^s leisure — had no 
necessity to be abroad on that inclement Saturday night. 
Not so at DaffodiPs Delight; there was not much chance 
(taking it collectively) of a dinner for the morrow, at the 
best; but, unless they went abroad, there was none. 

Down the street, to one particular corner shop, which 
had three gilt-colored balls hanging outside it, went the 
stream — chiefly females; not together, they mostly 
walked in units and some of them, at least, in a covert 
sort of manner, keeping in the shade of dead walls and of 
dark houses, as if not caring to be seen. Among the 
latter stole one who appeared more especially tenacious 
of being recognized. She was a young woman, comely 
once, but pale and hollow-eyed now, her bones ' too 


A LIFFAS SECRET. 


im 

slinrp for her skin. She was well wrapped up acfainst 
the weather, her cloth cloak warm, a fur round her 
neck, and india-rubber shoes. Choosing her time to ap- 
proach the shop when the coast should be tolerably clear, 
she glanced cautiously in at the window and door, and 
entered. 

Laying upon the counter a small parcel which she car- 
ried folded in a handkerchief, she displayed a card-board 
box to the sight of the shop^s master, who came forward 
to attend to her. It contained a really handsome set of 
corals fashioned like those worn in the days when our 
mothers were young; a necklace of six rows of small beads, 
with a gold snap made to imitate a rose, a large coral 
head set in it; a pair of gold ear-rings, with long-pendant 
coral drops, and a large and handsome gold brooch, set 
likewise with corals. 

‘MVhat, is it you, Miss Baxendale!” he exclaimed, his 
tone expressive of some surprise. 

It is indeed, Mr. Cox,'^ replied Mary. We all have 
to bend to these hard times, It^s share -and share alike 
in them. AVill you please to look at these jewels 

She tenderly drew aside the cotton which was over the 
trinkets — tender and reverently, almost as if a miniature 
live baby were lying there. Very precious were they to 
Mary. They were dear to her from associations: and she 
always believed them to be of great value. 

The pawnbroker glanced at them slightly, carelessly 
lifting one of the ear-rings in his hand to feel its weight. 
The brooch he honored with a closer inspection. 

/" What do you want upon them?’^ he asked. 

"" Nay,'^ said Mary, "" it is not for me to name the sum. 
VHiat will you lendP’ 

You are not accustomed to our business, or you would 
know that we like borrowers to mention their own ideas; 
and we give it if we can,^^ he rejoined with ready words. 
"" What do you ask?’^ 

""If you would let me have four pounds upon them,” 
began Mary, hesitatingly; but he snapped up the words. 

""Four pounds! Why, Miss Baxendale, you canT 
know what you are saying. Tlie fashion of these coral 
things is over, and done with. They are worth next to 
nothing.” 

Mary^s heart beat quicker. 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


IS7 


They are genuine, sir, if you’ll please to look. The 
gold is real gold, and the coral is the best coral; my poor 
mother has told me so many a time. Her godmother was 
a lady, well-to-do in the world, and the things were a 
present from her.” 

^^If they were not genuine, Fd not lend as many pence 
upon them,” said the man. ‘MVith a little alteration 
the brooch might be made tolerably modern; otherwise 
their value would be no more than old gold. In selling 
them, I ” 

It will not come to that, Mr. Cox,” interrupted 
Mary. Please God spares me a little while — and since 
the hot weather went out, I feel a bit stronger — I shall 
soon redeem them.” 

Mr. Cox looked at her thin face; he listened to her 
short breath; and he drew his own conclusions. There 
was a line of pity on his hard face, for he had long re- 
spected Mary Baxendale. 

By the way, tliat strike seems to be going on; there 
doesn’t promise much for a speedy end of it,” quoth he. 
‘‘I never was so overdone with pledges.” 

My work does not depend upon that,” said Mary. 

Let me get up a little strength and I shall have as 
much work as I can do. And I am paid well, Mr. Cox; 
I have a private connection. ^ I am not like the poor 
seamstresses who make shirts for fourpence a piece.” 

Mr. Cox made no immediate reply to this, and there 
was a pause. The open box lay before him. He took 
up the necklace and examined its clasp. 

will lend you a sovereign upon them.” 

She lifted her face pitiably, and the tears glistened in 
her eyes. 

It would be of no use to me,” she whispered. I 
want the money for a particular purpose, otherwise I 
should never have brought here these gifts of my moth- 
er’s. She gave them to me the day I was eighteen, and 
I have religiously kept them from desecration.” 

Poor Mary! From desecration! 

I have heard her say what they cost; but I forget 
now. I know it was over ten pounds. It is a set, you 
see.” 

But the day for this fashion has gone by. To ask 


188 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


four pounds upon them was preposterous; and you would 
know it to be so, were you acquainted with the trade.” 

^MVill you lend me two pounds, then?” 

The tone was tremblingly eager, the face beseeching — 
a wan face, telling of the coming grave. Possibly the 
thought struck the pawnbroker, and awoke some human- 
ity within him. 

shall lose by it, I know, if it comes to a sale. Pd 
not do it for anybody else. Miss Baxendale.” 

He proceeded to write out the ticket, his thoughts run- 
ning upon whether — if it did come to sale — he could not 
make three pounds by the brooch alone. As he was 
handing her the money, somebody rushed in, close to the 
spot occupied by Mary, and dashed down a large-sized 
paper parcel on the counter. She wore a black lace bon- 
net which had once been white, frayed, and altogether 
the worse for wear, independent of its dirt. It was tilted 
on the back of her head, displayinga mass of hair in front, 
half gray, half black, and exceedingly in disorder; to- 
gether with a red face. It was Mrs. Dunn. 

“My patience me! if iPs not Mary Baxendale! I 
thought you was too much of the lady to put your nose 
inside a popshop. DonT it go again’ the grain?” she 
ironically added, for she did not appear to be in the sweet- 
est of tempers. 

“It does indeed, Mrs. Dunn,” was the girl’s meek 
answer, as she took her money and departed. 

“ Now, then, old Cox, just attend to me,” began Mrs. 
Dunn. “I have brought something as you don’t get of- 
fered every day.” 

Mr. Cox, accustomed to the scant ceremony bestowed 
upon him by some of the ladies of Daffodil’s Delight, 
took the speech with indifference, and gave his attention 
to the parcel, from which Mrs. Dunn was rapidly taking 
off the twine. 

“ What’s this?— silk?” cried he, as a roll of dress- silk, 
brown, cross-barred with gold, came forth to view. 

“ Yes, it is silk; and there’s fourteen yards of it; and 
T want thirty shillings upon it,” volubly replied Mrs. 
Dunn. 

He took the silk between his fingers, feeling its sub- 
stance in his professionally indifferent and disparaging 
manner. . 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


139 


Where did you get it/rom?” he ashed. 

‘MVhere did 1 get it froni?’^ retorted Mrs. Dunn. 

Wliat’s that to you? D’ye think I stole it? 

‘^How do 1 know?’^ returned he. 

You insolent fellow! Is it only to-day as you have 
knowed me, Tom Cox? My name’s Hannah Dunn; and 
I donT want you to testify to my honesty; I can hold 
up my head in DaifodiKs Delight just as well as you can 
— perhaps a little better. Concern yourself with your 
own business. I want thirty shillings upon that.^^ 

“ It isiTt worth thirty shillings in the shop, new,” was 
the rejoinder. 

‘‘What?” shrieked Mrs. Dunn. “It cost three-and- 
fourpence lialfpenny a yard, every yard of it, and there's 
fourteen of ^em, I tell you.” 

“ I don’t care if it cost six and-fourpenco halfpenny; 
it’s not worth more than I say. I’ll lend you ten shillings 
upon it, and I should lose then.” 

“Where do you expect to go when you die?” demanded 
Mrs. Dunn, in a tone that might be heard half the length 
of Daffodil’s Delight. “ I wouldn’t tell such lies for the 
paltry sake of grinding folks down; no, not if you made 
me a duchess to-morrow for it.” 

“Here, take the silk off. I have not got time to 
bother; it’s Saturday night.” 

He swept the parcel, silk, paper, and string toward her, 
and was turning away. She leaned over the counter and 
seized upon him. 

“You want a opposition in the place, that’s what you 
want, Master Cox! You have been cock o’ the walkover 
Daffodil’s Delight so long that you think you can treat 
folks as if they were dirt. You be overdone with busi- 
ness, that’s what you be; you’re a-making gold as fast as 
they makes it in Australiar; we shall have you a-setting 
up your tandem next. What’ll you give me upon that 
silk?” 

“ I’ll give you ten shillings; I have said so. You may 
take it or not, it’s at your own option.” 

More contending; but the pawnbroker was firm, and 
Mrs. Dunn was forced to accept the offer, or else take 
away her silk. 

“ How long is this strike going to last?” he asked, ar. 


140 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


he made out the duplicate* The words excited the 
irascibility of Mrs. Dann, 

** Strike!'*'’ she uttered, in a flaming passion. Who 
dares to call it a strike? It^s not a strike; it’s a lock- 
out.^’ 

Lockout, then. The two things come to the same, 
don’t they? Is there a chance of its coming to an end?” 

No, they don’t come to the same,” shrieked Mrs. 
Dunn. A strike’s wl)at it is — a strike; a act of noble 
independence which the British workman may be proud 
on. A lockout is a nasty, mean, overbearing tyranny on 
the pai’t of the masters. I hope the men’ll hold out for- 
ever, I do! I hope the masters ’ll be drove, every soul of 
’em, into the dust and dregs of the bankruptcy court; I 
hope their sticks and stones ’ll be sold up, down to their 
children’s cradles ” 

There, that’s enough,” interposed the pawnbroker, 
as he handed her what he had to give. You’ll be col- 
lecting a crowd round the door, if you go on like that. 
Here’s somebody else waiting for your place.” 

It was Mrs. Cheek, an especial friend of the lady now 
being dismissed. Mrs. Cheek was carefully carrying a 
basket which contained various chimney ornaments — 
pretty enough in their places, but not of much value. 
The pawnbroker, after some haggling, not so intern por- 
ately carried on as the bargain just concluded, advanced 
six shillings on them. 

I had wanted twelve,” she said; '"and I can’t do with 
less.” 

‘"I am willing to lend it,” returned he, "if you bring 
goods according.” 

"I have stripped the place of a’most all the light 
things as can be spared,” said Mrs. Cheek. "One 
doesn’t care to begin upon the heavy furniture and the 
necessaries.” 

" Is there no chance of the present state of affairs com- 
ing to an end?” inquired Mr. Cox, putting the same ques- 
tion to which he had not got an answer from Mrs. Dunn. 
"The men can go back to work if they like; the master’s 
yards are open again.” 

"Open!” returned Mrs. Cheek, in a guttural tone, as 
she threw back her head in disdain; " they have been 
open some time, if you call that opening ’em. If a man 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


141 


likes to go as a sneaking coward, and work upon the terms 
offered now, knuckling down to the masters, and putting 
his hand to their beastly old odious document, severing 
himself from the Union, he can do it. It ain’t many of 
our men as you’ll find do that dirty work. If my hus- 
band was to attempt it, I’d he ready to skin him alive.” 

“But the men have gone back in some parts of the 
metropolis.” 

Men, do you call ’em? A few may; one black sheep 
out of a flock. They ain’t men, they are half-castes. Let 
them look to tlieirselves,” concluded Mrs. Olieek, signifi- 
cantly, as she quitted the shop. 

At the bntclier’s stall, a few paces further, she came 
up to Mrs. Dunn, who was standing in the glare of tlie 
blazing torch-light, in the incessant noise of the “ Bay, 
buy, buy! what’ll you buy?” Not less than a dozen more 
women were congregating there, elbowing each other, as 
they turned over the scraps of meat set out for sale in 
small heaps — sixpence the lot, a shilling the lot, accoi’d- 
ing to quality and quantity. In the prosperous time 
when their husbands were in full work, these ladies had 
scornfully disdained such heaps on a Saturday night; 
they were wont to buy a good joint for the Sunday’s din- 
ner. 

One of the women nudged another in her viciniU^, di- 
recting her attention to the inside of the shop. 

“Just twig Mother Shuck; she’s a being served, I 
hope!” 

“Mother Shuck,” Slippery Sam’s better half, was 
making her purchases, in the agreeable confidence of 
possessing money to pay for them — liver and bacon for 
the present evening’s supper, and a bi-east of veal, to be 
served with savory herbs, for the morrow’s dinner. In 
the old times, while the throng of women now outside 
had been able to make the same or similar purchases, she 
had hovered without, like a hungry iiyena, hanging over 
the cheap portions with covetous eyes and fingers, as 
many another poor wife had done whose husband could 
not or would not work. Times were changed. 

“I can’t afford nothing hardly, I can’t,” grumbled 
Mrs. Cheek. “ What’s the good of six shillings for a 
Saturday night, when everything’s wanted, from the rent 
down to a potato? The young ’uns have got their bare 


143 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


feet upon the boards, as may be said, for tlieir shoes be 
without toes and heels; and who is to ^et ’em others? I 
wisli that Cox was a bit juster. He’s a-getting rich 
upon our spoils. Six shilling for that lot as I took him 
in!” 

“I wish be was smothered!” struck in Mrs. Dann. 
‘^He took and asked me if I’d stole the silk. It was that 
lovely silk, you know, as I was fool enough to go and 
choose, the week of the strike, on the stre!igth of a good 
time a-coming. We have had something else to do 
since, instead of making up silk gownds.” 

“The good time ain’t come yet,” said Mrs. Cheek, 
shortly. “I wish the old ’uns was back again, if we 
could get ’em without stooping to the masters.” 

“it was at the shop where Mary Ann and Jemimar 
deals, when they has to get in things for their customers’ 
M’ork,” resumed Mrs. Dunn, continuing the subject of 
the silk. “ I shouldn’t liave had credit at any other place. 
Fourteen yards I bought of it, and three-and-foiirpence 
halfpenny I gave for every yard of it; J did, I protest to 
you, Elizar Cheek: and that swindling old screw had the 
conscience to offer me ten shillings.” 

“ Is the silk paid for?” 

“Paid for!” wrathfully repeated Mrs. Dunn; “has it 
been a time to pay for silk gownds when our husbands 
be under a lockout? Of course it’s not paid for, and the 
shop’s a-beginning to bother for it; but they’ll be none 
nearer gettijjg it. I say, master, what’ll you weigh in 
these fag ends of mutton and beef at^ — the two together?” 

It will be readily understood, from the above conversa- 
tion and signs, that several weeks Inid elapsed since the 
commencement of the lockout. The roast goose and the 
boiled salmon had not come yet. The masters’ shops 
w'ere open — open to any one who would go to work in 
them, provided they renounced all connection with the 
Trades’ Unions. Daffodil’s Delight would not have this 
at any price, and they held out. The worst aspect in the 
affair — I mean for the interests of the men — was, that 
strange workmen were assembling from different parts 
of the country, accepting the work which they refused. 
Of course this feature in the dispute was most bitter to 
the men; they lavished their abuse upon the masters for 
employing strange hands, and they would have been glad 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


148 


to lavish something worse than abuse upon the hands 
themselves. One of the masters compared them to the 
fable of the dog in the manger: they would not take the 
work, and they would not let (by their good will) any- 
body else take it; incessant agitation was maintained. 
The workmen wore in a sufficiently excited state, as it 
was: and to help on that which need not have been helped, 
the agents of the Trades-Union kept the ball rolling —an 
incendiary ball, urging obstinacy and spreading discon- 
tent. Blit this history has not so much to do with the 
political phases of the unhappy dispute as with its social 
effects. 

As Mary Baxendale was returning home from the 
pawnbroker-s, she passed Mrs. Darby, who was standing 
at her own door, looking at the weather. Mary, girl,- 
was the salutation, ^‘this is not a night for you to be 
abroad.- 

“ I was obliged to go,- was the reply. How are the 
child ren?- 

‘‘Come in and see them,- said Mrs. Darby. 

She led the way into a. back room, which at the first 
glance seemed to be covered with mattresses and chil- 
dren. A large family had Robert Darby — indeed, it was 
a complaint prevalent in Daffodil’s Delight. They were 
of various ages; these, lying on the mattresses, six of 
them, were from four to twelve years. The elder ones 
were not at home. The room had a close, unhealthy 
smell, which struck especially on the senses of Mary, 
rendered sensitive from illness. 

‘‘What have you got them all in this room for?- she 
exclaimed, in the impulse of the moment. 

“1 have given up the rooms above,- was Mrs. Darby’s 
reply. 

“But — when the children were ill — was it a time to 
give up rooms?- debated Mary. 

“No,- replied Mrs. Darby, who spoke as if she were 
heart-broken, in a sad, subdued tone, the very reverse of 
Mesdarnes Dunn and Cheek. “ But how could we keep 
on the top rooms when we had not got the rent? I 
spoke to the landlord, and he is letting the back rent 
stand a bit, not to sell us up; and I gave up to him the 
two top rooms: and we all sleep in here together.- 


144 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


** I wish the men would go back to work/^ said Mary, 
with a sigh. 

Mai-y, my hearths just failing within me,” wailed 
Mrs. Darby. “ Here’s winter coming on, and all of them 
out of work. If it were not for my daughter, who is in 
service, and brings us her wages as she gets them, I be- 
lieve we should just have starved. I must get medicine 
for the children, though we go without bread.” 

It is not medicine they want: it is nourishment,” 
said Mary. 

It is both. Nourishment would have done when they 
were first ailing, but now that it has turned to low fever 
they must have medicine, or it will grow into typhus. 
It’s bark they have to take, and it costs ” 

“Mother! mother!” struck up a plaintive voice, that 
of the eldest of the children lying there, “ I want more 
of that nice drink!” 

“ I have not got it, Willy. You know that you had it 
all. Mrs. Quale brought me round a pot of black cur- 
rant jelly, ’’she explained to Mary, “and I poured boiling 
water on it to make drink. Their little parched throats 
did so relish it, poor things.” 

Mary knelt on the fioor, and put her hand on the 
child’s moist brow. He was a pretty boy; fair and deli- 
cate, with light curls falling round his face. A gentle, 
thoughtful boy he had ever been, but less healthy than 
some. 

“You are thirsty, Willy?” 

He opened his heavy eyelids, and the large, round bine 
eyes glistened with fever, as they were lifted to see who 
spoke. “ How do you do, Mary?” he meekly said. “ Yes, 
I am so thirsty. Mother says perhaps she should have a 
sixpence to-night to buy a pot of jelly like Mrs. Quale’s.” 

Mrs. Darby colored slightly; she thought Mary must 
reflect on the extravagaiice implied. Sixpence for jelly, 
when they were wanting money for a loaf! 

“I did say it to him,” she whispered, as she was quit- 
ting the room with Mary. “I thought I might spare a 
sixpence out of what Darby got from the society. But I 
can’t; I can’t. There’s so many things we cannot do 
without, unless we just give up, and lie down and don’t 
even try at keeping body and soul together. Kent, and 
coals, and candles, and soap; and wo must eat something. 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


145 


Darby, too, of course he wants a trifle for beer and tobacco. 
Mary, I say I am just faint-heart. If the poor boy 
should die,, itfll be upon my heart forever that the 
drink he craved for in his last illness couldn’t be got for 
him.” 

Does he crave for it?” 

Nothing was ever like it. All day long it has been 
his sad, pitiful cry, ‘Have you got the jelly yet, mother? 
Oh, mother, if I could but have the drink!’” 

As Mary went through the front room, Robert Darby 
was in it then. His chin rested on his hands, his elbows 
were on the table; altogether he looked very down- 
hearted. 

“ I have been up to see Willy,” she cried. 

“Ah, poor little chap!” It was all he said; but the 
tone implied more. 

“Things seem to bo getting very low with us all. I 
wish there could be a change,” continued Mary. 

“ How can there be, while the masters and the Unions 
are at loggerheads?” he asked. “Us men be between 
the two, and between the two we come to the ground. 
It’s like sitting on two stools at once.” 

Mary proceeded to the shop where the jelly was sold, an 
oilman’s, bought a sixpenny pot, and took it back to Mrs. 
Darby’s, handing it in at the door. 

“ Why did you do it, iMary? You can’t afford it.” 

“ Yes I can. Give it to Willy, with my love.” 

“He will only be out of the world of care, if God does 
take him,” she sighed, as she bent her steps homeward. 
“ It would be a happy release for the half of us heie. 
Oh, father!” she continued aloud, encountering John 
Baxendale at their own gate, “I wish this sad state of 
things could be ended. There’s the poor little Darbys 
worse instead of better. They are all lying in one room, 
down with fever.” 

“ God help us if fever should come!” was the reply of 
John Baxendale. 

“It is not catching fever yet. They have given up 
their top chambers, and are all sleeping in that back 
room. Poor Willy craved for a bit of jelly, and Mrs. 
Darby could not get it him.” 

“ Better crave for that than for worse things,” roughly 
returned John Baxeiidale. “I am just a-walking about 


146 


A LIFE’S SECRET, 


here, because I can’t bear to stop in-doors. I canH pay 
the rent, and the things must go."’ 

No, father, they need not. He said that if you would 
get up two pounds toward it, he would give time for the 
rest. If 

Two pounds!” ejaculated John Baxendale; where 
am I to get two pounds from? Borrow of them that 
have been provident, and so are better off, in this dis- 
tress, than me? No, that I never will.” 

Mary opened her hand and displayed two sovereigns 
held in its palm. They sparkled in the gaslight. They 
are my own, father. Take them.” 

A sudden revulsion of feeling came over Baxendale — 
like one who has passed from despair to hope. “ Cliild,” 
he gently said, ‘^did an angel send them?” And Mary, 
worn with weakness, with long-continued insufficient 
food, and with the distress around her, burst into tears, 
and, bending her head upon his arm, sobbed aloud. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The Shucks had got an evening party. Two or three 
friends had dropped in that Saturday night — idlers, like 
Sam himself — and were invited to supper. Mrs. Shuck 
was just about to fry the liver and bacon — you saw her 
purchasing it — with the accompaniment of a good peck 
of onions; Sam and his friends were staying their appe- 
tites with pipes and porter; and when Mary Baxendale 
and her father entered — Mary having waited outside till 
her emotion was passed and her eyes were dry — they 
could scarcely find their way across the kitchen, what 
witli the clouds from the pipes, and the smoke from the 
frying-pan. Tliere was a great deal of laughter going 
on. Prosperity had not yet caused the" Shucks to 
change their residence for a better one; perhaps that was 
to come. 

'‘You are merry to-night,” observed Mary, by way of 
being sociable. 

"It’s merrier inside nor out, a-wnding tlirough the 
puddles and the sharp rain,” replied Mrs. Shuck, with- 
out turning round from lier employment. "IPs sorne’at 
new to see you go out such a" night as this, Mary 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


147 


Baxendale! Don^t you talk about folks wanting sense 
again.” 

I don’t know that I ever do talk of it,” was the smil- 
ing reply of Mary. 

Mrs. Baxendale was hushing a baby as they entered 
their room. She looked very cross. The best-tempered 
will do so, under the long-continued embarrassment of 
empty purses and empty stomachs. 

‘‘ Who has been spreading it up and down the place as 
we are in trouble about the rent?” she abruptly demanded, 
in no pleasant voice. That girl of Eyan’s was here just 
now — Judy. She knew it, it seems, and she didn’t forget 
to speak of it. Mary, what a simpleton you are, to bo out 
in this rain!” 

Never mind who speaks of the rent, Mrs. Baxendale, 
so long as it can be paid,” said Mary, sitting down in the 
first chair to get her breath up, after mounting the 
stairs. “ Father is going to manage it, so that we sha’n’t 
have any trouble at present. It is all right.” 

“How ever have you contrived it?” demanded Mrs. 
Baxendale of her husband, in a changed tone. 

“ Mary has contrived it — not I. She has just put two 
pound into my hand. AVhere did you get it, child?” 

“It does not signify your knowing that, father.” 

“ If I don’t know it, 1 sha’n’t use the money,” he an- 
swered. “ Where was it had from, Mary?” 

“It was not borrowed, in your sense of the word, 
father. I have only done what you and Mrs. Baxendale 
have been doing lately. I pledged that set of coral orna- 
ments of my mother's. Have you forgotten them?” 

“ Why, yes, I had forgot ’em,” cried he. “ Coral orna- 
ments! I declare they had as much slipped my memory 
as if she had never possessed them.” 

“ Cox would only lend me two pound upon them. 
Father, I hope I shall some time get them redeemed.” 

John Baxendale made no reply. He turned to pace 
the small room, evidently in deep thought. Mary, her 
poor short breath gathered again, took off her wet cloak 
and bonnet. Presently Mrs. Baxendale put the leaf 
upon the table, and some cold potatoes. “ Couldn’t you 
have brought in a sausage or two for yourself, Mary, or a 
red herring?” she said. “You had got a shilling in 
your pocket.” 


148 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


I can eat a potato/’ said Mary. It don’t mucli mat- 
ter about me.” 

matters abont ns all, I think,” cried Mrs. Baxen- 
dalc. “Mliat a delicious smell of onions!” she added 
in a parenthesis. “Idiem Shucks liave got the luck of 
it just now. Us and the children, and you, are three 
parts starved — 1 know that, Mary. We may weather it; 
it’s to be lioped we shall; but it will just kill yon.” 

No, it sha’n’t,” said John Baxendale, stopping short 
in his promenade, and turning to them with a strangely 
stern deeision marked upon his countenance. ‘‘This 
night das decided mo, and I’ll go and do it.” 

“ Go and do what?” exclaimed his wife, 

“ I’ll go to WORK, please God, Monday morning 
comes,” he said with emphasis. “The. thought has been 
hovering in my mind this week past.” 

“ It’s just the thing you ought to have done weeks 
ago,” observed Mrs. Baxendale. 

“ You never said it.’’ 

“Not 1. It’s best to let men come to their senses of 
their own accord. You mostly work by the rules of con- 
trary, you men; if I had advised your going to work next 
Monday morning, you’d just have stopped away.” 

Passing over this conjugal compliment in silence, John 
B:ixendale descended the stairs. He possessed a large 
share of the open honesty of the genuine English work- 
man. He disdained to do things in a cornei*. It would 
not suit him to i-eturn to work the coming Monday morn- 
ing, on what might be called “ the sly;” he prelerred to 
act openly, and to declare it to the Trades’ Union pre- 
viously, in the person of their paid agent, Sam Shuck, 
This he would do at once. 

The first installment of the supper was just served; 
which was accomplished by means of a tin-dish placed on 
the table, and the contents of the frying-pan being turned 
unceremoniously into it. Sarn and the company deemed 
that liver and bacon were best served hot and hot, so 
they sat themselves to eat, while Mrs. Shuck continued 
to f ry. 

“ I have got just a word to say, Shuck. I shan’t dis- 
turb you,” began John Baxendale. But Shuck inter- 
rupted him. 

“ It’s of no use, Baxendale, your remonstrating about 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


149 


the sliort allowance. Think of the many moutlis there 
is to feed. Ir/s luird times, we all know, thunks to the 
masters; but our duty, ay, and our pride, too, must lie 
in putting up with them, like men.'' . 

^‘It's not very hard times with you, at atiy rate," said 
John Baxendale, sniffing involuntarily the savoi-y odor, 
and watcliing the tempting morsels consumed. My 
business liere is not to remonstrate at anything, but to 
inform you that I shall resume work on Monday." 

The announcement took Sam by surprise. He dropped 
tlie knife with which he was cutting tlie liver, held upon 
his bread — for the repast was not served fashionably, with 
a full compliment of plates and dishes — and stared at 
Baxendale. ^^What!" he uttered. 

I have had enough of it. I shall go back on Monday 

morning/^ 

Are you a fool, Baxendale? or a knave?" 

Sometimes I think I must be a fool," was the reply, 
given without ii-ritation. ‘^Leastways, 1 have wondered, 
lately, whether I am or not: when there has been full 
work and full wages to be had for the asking, and I liave 
not asked, but have let my wife and children and Mary 
go down to starvation point." 

“ You have been holding out for principle," remon- 
strated Sam. 

‘^1 know. And principle is a very good thing, when 
you are sure it's the right principle; but flesh and blood 
can't stand out forever." 

'‘ After standing out as long as this, I’d try and stand 
out a' bit longer," ironically cried Sam. "You mudj 
Baxendale, you can’t turn traitor now." 

" You say, 'a bit longer,' Sam Shuck. It has been ' a 
bit longer,' and 'a bit longer,' for some time past; but 
the bit doesn't come to any ending. There's no more 
chance of the master's coming to, than there was at first, 
but a great deal less. The getting of these men from the 
country v/ill render them independent of us. What is to 
become of us then?" 

"Rubbish!" said Sam Shuck. "The masters must 
come to: they can't stand against the Unions. Because 
a sprinkling of poor country workmen have thrust in 
their noses, and the masters are keeping open their 


150 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


works on the show of it, is that a reason why we should 
knuckle down? They are doing it to frighten us/^ 

Look here,’^ said Baxendale. have got two 

women and two children on mv hands, and one of tlie 
women next door to the grave; I am threatened — yo2i 
know it, Sam Shuck — with a lodging for them in the 
street next week, because I have not been able to pay the 
rent; I have parted, by selling and pledging, with nearly 
all there is to part with, of my household goods. Can I 
kneel down and ask God to consider my condition, and 
provide for me and mine? No; I caiiT. If God was 
pleased to answer us in words, like we speak to him, 
would he not say, ^ There is work and to s^Dare: you have 
only got to do itT^ 

Well, thaGs grand,^'’ put in one of SanTs guests. 

As if folks asked God about such things as this!"^ 

Since my late wife died I have thought about it more 
than I used to, said Baxendale, simply, '^aiid I have 
learned that there’s no good to be done in anything 
where God is not asked. Well, Sam, you’ll tell the 
Union?” 

‘‘No, I sha’n’t. You won’t go to work.” 

“ You’ll see. I shall be glad to go. I haven’t had a 
proper meal this ” 

“ You’ll think better of it between now and Monday 
morning,” interrupted Sam, drowning his words. “ i’ll 
have a talk with you to-morrow. Have a bit of supper, 
Baxendale?” ■ 

“No, thank ye. I didn’t come in to eat your victuals,” 
he added, moving to the door. 

“We have got plenty,” said Mrs. Shuck, turning 
round from the frying-pan. “Here, eat it up-stairs, if 
you won’t stop, Baxendale.” 

She took out a slice of liver and of bacon, and handed 
them to him on a saucer. What a temptation it was to 
the man, sick with hunger! However, he was about to 
refuse, when he thought of Mary. 

“Thank ye, Mrs. Shuck. I’ll take it, then, if you can 
spare it. It will be a treat to Mary.” 

Like the appearance of water in the arid desert to the 
parched and exhausted traveler, was the sight of that 
saucer of meat to Mary. Terribly did she often crave 
for it. John Baxendale positively refused to touch any; 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


151 


SO Mary diviclecl it into two portions, giving one to Mrs. 
Baxendale. The woman’s good-nature — her sense of 
Mary’s condition — would have led her to refuse it; but 
she was not made up of self-denial, and she felt faint and 
sinking. John Baxendale cut a thick slice of bread, 
rubbed it over the remains of gravy in the snucer, and ate 
that. Please God, this shall have an end,” he mentally 
repeated. I think I have been a fool.” 

Mr. Hunter’s yard was open like other yards; but as 
yet he had but few men at work in it; in fact, so liitle 
was doing that it was almost equivalent to a stand-still. 
Mr. Henry Hunter was better off; a man of energy, de- 
termined to stand no nonsense, as he himself ex})ressed 
it, he had gone down to country places, and engaged 
many hands." 

On the Monday following the above Saturday night, 
Austin Clay proceeded in the evening to Mr. Hunter’s 
house. Mr. Hunter was suffering from illness, and had 
not been to the yard that dav. Florence was alone when 
he entered, evidently in distress, though she strove to 
hide it from him, to turn it off with gay, light words. 
But he noted the signs too well. 

'MVhat is your grief, Florence?” he asked, bending 
over her and speaking in the sweetest tone of sympathy. 

It caused her tears to burst forth afresh. Austin, ex- 
ercising no control over his feelings, and possibly not 
caring to exercise it, drew her to him and said kindly: 

Let me share it, Florence.” 

It is nothing more than usual. Oh, Austin, I try to 
bear up bravely, and I do bear up; but, indeed, this is 
an unhappy house. Mamma is sinking fast; I am sure 
she is; I see it daily. While papa ” 

Sobs impeded her utterance. Austin turned away; he 
did not like that she should enter with him upon any 
subject connected with Mr. Hunter. Florence looked at 
him. 

‘^Austin, toliat is it that is overshadowing papa?” she 
breathed, in a tone of dread. I am sure that some mis- 
fortune overhangs the house.” 

I wish I could take you out of it!” was the impulsive 
and not very relevant answer. 

/ can bear it, whatever it maybe; but my heartaches 


153 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


for liim. See how ill he is! and yet he has no ailment of 
body, only of mind. Night after night he paces his room, 
never sleeping.'’^ 

Florence, how do you know that?” Austin gravely 
inquired. 

“ Because I listen to it.” 

‘‘Yon should not do so. Whatever may be the nature 
of — of Mr. IJnnteFs trouble, it is not well for you to seek 
to fathom it.” 

“ 1 cannot help listening to him. How is it possible? 
His room is near mine, and when his footsteps aie sound- 
ing in it, in the nndnight silence, hour after hour, my 
ears grow sensitively quick. I say that, loving him, I 
cannot help it. Sometimes I think that if I only knew 
the cause, the nature of his sorrow, I might soothe it — 
perhaps help to remove it. Austin, will you not tell it 
me?” 

“ Florence, you can have no grounds for assuming that 
I am cognizant of it.” 

“ I feel very sure that you are. Can you suppose that 
I should otherwise speak of it to you?” 

“I say that you can have no grounds for the supposi- 
tion. By what do you so judge?” 

“ By signs,” she answered. “I can read it in 3 mur 
countenance. I was pretty sure of it before that day 
when you sent me hastily into your rooms, lest I should 
hear what the man Gwinn was about to say; but I have 
been fully sure since. What he would have said related 
to it; and in some way, the man, I feel sure, is con- 
nected with the ill. Besides, you have been on confi- 
dential terms with papa for years.” 

“On business matters only; not on private ones. My 
dearest, I must request you to let this subject cease’ now 
and always. I know nothing of its nature from your 
father; and if my own thoughts have in any way strayed 
towiird it, it is not fitting that I should give utterance 
to them.” 

“Tell me one thing; could I be of any service, in any 
way?” 

“ Hush, Florence,” he uttered, as if the words had 
struck upon some painful chord. “The only service you 
can render is, by taking no notice of it, even to yourself. 
In time ” 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


153 


Is it you, Austin? I heard voices here, and won- 
dered who had come in/^ 

“ How are you, dear Mrs. Hunter?^^ he said, advanc- 
ing to her as she entered. Better this evening?'^ 

Not better, was Mrs. Hunter’s answer, as she re- 
tained Austin’s hand, and drew liini on the sofa beside 
her. ‘‘There will be no ‘better’ for me in this world. 
Austin, I wish I could have gone from it under hap- 
pier circumstances. Florence, I hear your papa call- 
ing.” 

“If you are not happy in the prospect of the future, 
who can be?” murmured Austin, as Florence lefc tlie 
room. 

“I spoke not of myself. I know in whom I have be- 
lieved. 1 am going to my merciful Saviour; and for 
those who can feel that assurance with them, tliere is, 
indeed, happiness. My concern is for Mr. Hunter. 
Austin, I would give every minute of my remaining days 
to know what terrible grief it is that has been so long 
upon him.” 

Austin was silent. Had Mrs. Hunter and Florence en- 
tered into a compact to annoy him, he wondered. 

“ It has been like a dark shade upon our house for 
years. Florence and I have kept silence upon it, to him 
and to each other; to him we dared not speak, to each 
other we would not. Latterly it has seemed so much 
worse that I was forced to whisper of it to her; I could 
not keep it in; the silence was killing me. We both 
agree that you are in his confidence, and ” 

“1 am not, indeed, Mrs. Hunter,” he broke forth, 
glad to be able to say it. “That I have observed the 
signs you speak of in Mr. Hunter, his embarrassment, his 
grief ” 

“Say his fear, Austin.” 

“ His fear. That I have noticed this it would be vain 
to deny. But, Mrs. Hunter, I assure you he has never 
given me his confidence upon the subject. Quite the 
contrary; he has particularly shunned it with me.” 

“ I was mistaken, then,” she said, with a sigh. “ Aus- 
tin, how is business going on; how will it go on?” 

Very grave turned Austin’s face now. This was an 
open evil — one to be openly met and grappled with; and 
what his countenance gained in seriousness it lost in an- 


154 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


noyance. ''I really do not see how it will go on/^ was 
Ills reply, ''unless we can get to work soon. I want to 
speak to Mr. Hunter. Can I see him?’’ 

He will be in directly. He has not been down to-day 
yet. But I suppose you will wish to see him in private; 
I ki.ow he and you like to be alone when you talk upon 
business matters.” 

At present it was expedient that Mrs. Hunter, at any 
rate, should not be present, if she was to be spared annoy- 
ance, for Mr. Hunter’s affairs were growing ominous. 
This was chiefly owing to the stoppage, through 
the strike, of works in process, and partly to the effect of 
a diminished capital. Austin as yet did not know all the 
apprehension, for Mr. Hunter contrived to keep some of 
it fiom him. That the diminishing of the capital was 
owing to Gwiiin, of Ketterford, Austin did know; at 
least, his surmises amounted to certainty. AVhen a hun- 
dred pounds, or perhaps two hundred pounds, myste- 
riously went out, and Austin was not made acquainted 
where, he drew his own conclusions. 

"Are the men not learning the error of their course, 
yet?” Mrs. Hunter resumed. 

" They seem further off learning it than ever. One of 
them, indeed, came back to-day; Baxendale.” 

" 1 felt sure he would be amongst the first to do so. 
He is a sensible man, a reflecting man; how he came to 
hold out at all, is to me a matter of surprise.” 

" He told me this morning, when he came and asked to 
be taken on again, that he wished he never had held out,” 
said Austin. " Mary is none the better for it.” 

" Mary was here to day. remarked Mrs. Hunter. "She 
came to say that she was better, and could do some work 
if I had any. I fear it is a deceitful improvement. She 
is teri-ibly thin and wan. No; this state of things must 
have been bad for her. She looks as if she were half- 
famished.” 

" She only looks what she is,” said Austin. 

"Oh, Austin! I should hfive been so thankful to help 
her to strengthening food during this scarcity,” Mrs. Hun- 
ter exclaimed, the tears in her eyes. "But I have not 
dared. You know what i\Ir. II unter’s opinioji is— that 
the men have brought it upon themselves, and that to 
help their families only in the least degree, would be en« 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


155 


conraging them to hold out, and would tend to prolong 
the contest. He positively forbade me helping any 
of them; and I could only obey. 1 have kept in-doors as 
much as possible, that 1 might avoid the sight of the dis- 
tress whicli I must not relieve. But I ordered Mary 
a good meal here this morning; Mr. Hunter did not ob- 
ject to that. Here he is.'’^ 

Mr. Hunter entered, leaning upon Florence. He 
looked like an old man, rather than one of middle age. 

“ Baxendale is back, sir,^' Austin observed, after a few 
words had passed. 

“ Come to his senses at last, has he?^^ cried Mr. Hun- 
ter; ‘Mias he signed the declaration?” 

“Of course he has. The men have to do that, you 
know, sir, before they can get work; he says he wishes 
he had come back at first.” 

“ So do a good many others in their hearts,” answered 
Mr. Hunter, significantly; “but they canT pluck up the 
courage to acknowledge it.” 

“ The men are most bitter against him — urged on, no 
doubt, by the Union. They ” 

“ Against Baxendale?” 

“Against Baxendale. He came to speak to me before 
breakfast; I gave him the declaration to read and sign, 
and sent liim to work at once. In the course of the morn- 
ing it had got wind: though Baxendale told me he had 
given Sam Shuck notice of his intention on Saturdny 
night. At dinner time when Baxendale was quitting the 
yard there were— I should say a couple of hundred men 
assembled there— — ” 

“The Daffodirs Delight people?” interrupted Mr. 
Hunter. 

“Yes. Our late men, chiefly — and a sprinkling of 
Mr. Henryk 'Fhey were waiting there for Baxendule, 
and the moment he appeared, the yells, the hisses, the 
groans were dreadful. I suspected what it was, and 
rushed out; and, but for my doing so, I believe they would 
have set upon him.” 

“ Mark you. Clay! I will protect my workmen to the 
very limit of the faw. Let the malcontents lay but a 
finger upon any one of them, and they shall assuredly be 
punished to the uttermost,” reiterated Mr. Hunter, bring- 
ing down his hand forcibly. “ What did you do?” 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


15tt 

spoke to them just as you have now spoken/’ said 
Austin. Their threatenings to tlie man were terrible. 
I chircd them to lay a finger upon him; I assured them 
that the language they were using was punishable. Had 
tlie police been in the way — but the more you want them, 
the less they are to be seen — 1 should have handed a few 
into custody.” 

‘‘ Who were the ringleaders.” 

‘‘I can scarcely tell. Evan, the Irishman, was busy, 
and so was Jim Dunn; Cheek also, backed by his wife.” 

“ Oil, you had women also!” 

‘Mn plenty,” said Austin. One of them — I think 
it was Cooper’s wife — roared out a challenge to fight 
Baxendale, if her husband. Cooper, as she expressed it, 
was too much of a woman to fight him. There will be 
bloodslied, I fear, sir, before the thing is over.” 

If tliere is, let them who cause it look to them- 
selves,” said Mr. Hunter. ‘‘How did it end?” 

“ I cleared a passage for Baxendale, and they yelled 
and hooted him home. ‘I suppose they’d like to take 
my life,’ he said to me; ‘but I tliink I am only do- 
ing right in returning to work. I could not let my 
family and Mary quite starve.’ This afternoon all was 
quiet; Quale said he heard the men were holding a 
meeting.” 

Florence was sitting with her hands clasped, her color 
rising. “If they set upon Baxendale, and — and injure 
him!” she breathed. 

“Then the law would see what it could do toward 
getting some of them punished,” sternly spoke Mr. 
Hunter. 

“ Oh, James!” uttered his wife, her pale cheeks flush- 
ing, as the words grated on her ears. “Could nothing 
be done to prevent it? Prevention is better than cure, 
Austin. Will you not give notice to the police, and tell 
them to be on tlie alert?” 

“ I have done it,” he answered. 

“Papa,” said Florence, “ have you heard that Eobert 
Darby’s children are ill? likely to die? They are suffer- 
ing dreadfully fi-om want. Mary Baxendale said so when 
she was here this morning.” 

“I know nothing about Eobert Darby or his children,” 
was the stern reply of Mr. Hunter. “ If a man sees his 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


157 


children starving before him, and will not work to feed 
them, he deserves to lose them. Florence, I see what 
you mean — you would like to ask me to permit you to 
send them relief. I will not. 

Do not deem Mr. Hunter an inhuman man. He was 
far from that. Had the men been out of work through 
misfortune, he would have been the first to forward them 
succor: many and many a time had he done it in case 
of sickness. He and the other masters judged tliat to 
help tlje men or their families in any way would but tend 
to prolong the dispute, and there was certainly reason in 
their argument — if the men wished to feed their children, 
why did they not work for them? 

“ Sir,^^ whispered Austin, when he was going, and Mr. 
Hunter went with him into the hall, ‘'that bill of Lamb’s 
came back to us to-day, noted.’^ 

“No!” 

“ It did, indeed, sir. I had to take it up.” 

Mr. Hunter lifted his hands. “ This wretched state 
of things! It will bring on ruin, it will bring on ruin. 
I heard one of the masters curse the men the other day 
in his perplexity and anger; there are times when 1 am 
tempted to follow his example. Ruin! for my wife and 
for Florence.” 

“Mr. Hunter,” exclaimed Austin, greatly agitated, 
and speaking in the moment’s impulse, “ why will you 
not let me hope for her? I will make her a happy 
home ” 

“Be silent!’ sternly interrupted Mr. Hunter. “I 
have told you that Florence can never be yours. If you 
cannot put away this unthankful subject, at once ami 
forever, I must forbid you the house.” 

“Good-night, sir,” returned Austin. And he went 
away, sighing heavily. 


CHAPTER XV. 

How do the poor manage to pull through illness? 
Through distress, through hunger, through cold, through 
nakedness, above all, through the fetid, unwholesome 
atmosplmre in which too many of them are obliged to 
live, they struggle on from sickness back to health. 

Look at the children of Robert Darby. The low fever 


158 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


which attacked them had in some inexplicable way been 
subdued, without its going on to the dreaded typlms. If 
typhus appeared at that untoward time in Daffodil’s De- 
light, why, then, no earthly power could have helped 
them. 

Little pale pinched forms, but with the disease gone, 
there sat the children. Colder weather had come, and 
they had gathered round the bit of fire; fire it scarcely 
could be called, for it was only a few decaying embers. 
All sat on the floor, save Willy; he was in a chair, lean- 
ing his head back on a pillow. The boy had probably 
never been fitted by constitution for a prolonged life, 
though he might have lasted some years more, under fa- 
vorable surroundings; as it was, fever and privation had 
done their work with him, and the little spirit was nearly 
worn out. 

Mrs. Darby had taken him round to Mr. Rice. '"He 
does not want me, he wants a good nourishment, and 
plenty of it,” was the apothecary’s veto. And Mrs. 
Darby took him home again. 

" Mother, the fire’s nearly out.” 

"I can’t help it, Willy. There’s no more coal, and 
nothing to buy it with.” 

Take something, mother.” 

You may, or may not, as you are acquainted or not with 
the habits of the poor, be aware that this sentence re- 
ferred to the pawnbroker; spoken out fully it would have 
been, "Take something and pledge it, mother.” In cases 
of long-continued, general distress, the children of a fam- 
ily know just as much about its ways and means as the 
heads do. 

Mrs. Darby cast her eyes round the kitchen. There 
was nothing to take, nothing that would raise them help 
to speak of. As she stood over Willy, parting the hair 
with her gentle finger upon his little pale brow, her tears 
dropped upon his face. The pillow on which his head 
leaned? Ay, she had thought of that with longing; but 
how would liis poor little head do without it? The last 
things put in pledge had been Darby’s tools. 

The latch of the door opened, and Grace entered. 
She appeared to be in some deep distress. Flinging her- 
self on a chair, she clasped hold of her mother, sobbing 
wildly, clinging to her as if for protection. " Oh, 


.4 LIFE'S SECRET. 


159 


mother, they have accused me of theft; tlie police have 
been had to me!'^ were the confused words that broke 
from her lips. 

Grace had taken service in a baker’s family, where 
there was an excessively cross mistress. She was a well- 
conducted, lionest girl, and since the distress had com- 
menced at liome had brought her wages straight to her 
mother, wlienever they were paid her. For the last week 
or two, the girl had brought something more. On the 
days when she believed she could get a minute to run 
home in the evening, she had put by her allowance of 
meat at dinner — they lived well at the baker’s — and made 
it upon bread and potatoes. Had Grace for a moment 
suspected there was anything wronger dishonest in this, 
she would not have done it; she deemed the meat was 
hers, and she took it to Willy. On this day, two good 
slices of mutton were cut for her; she put them by, eat 
her potatoes and bread, and after dinner, upon being 
sent on an eri’and past Daffodil’s Delight, was taking 
them out with her. 

The mistress pounced upon her. She abused her; she 
reproached her of theft, slie called her husband to join 
in the accusation, and finally a policeman was brought 
in from the street, probably moi-e to frighten the girl 
than to give her in charge. It did frighten her in no 
measured degree. She protested, as well as she could do 
it for her sobs, that she had no dishonest tliought; tliat 
slie had believed the meat to be hers to eat it, or not, as 
she pleased, and that she was going to take it to her 
little brother, who was dying. The policeman decided 
that it was not a case for charge at the police court, and 
the baker’s wife ended the matter by turning her out. 
All this, with sobs and moans, she by degrees explained 
now. 

Robert Darby, who had entered during the scene, lifted 
his hand, more in sorrow than in anger, upon Grace’s 
shoulder, in his stern honesty. Daughter, I’d far rather 
we all dropped down here upon the floor and died out 
with starvation, than Ihai" you should have brought homo 
what was not yours to bring.” 

There’s no need for you to scold her, Robert,” spoke 
Mrs. Darby, with more temper tlnin she, in her meek- 
ness, often betrayed; and her conscience told her that she 


160 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


had purposely kept those little episodes from her hus- 
band. “ It is the hits of meat she hasfed liim with twice 
or thrice a week that has just kept life in him; that's my 
firm belief." 

She shouldn't have done it; it was not hers to bring," 
returned Robert Darby. 

What else has he had to feed him?" proceeded the 
wife. AVhat do any of us have? Y'ou are getting noth- 
ing." 

The tone was a reproachful one. With her starving 
children before her, and one of them dying, the poor 
motlier’s wrung heart could but speak out. 

I know I'm getting nothing," was his answer. ^^Is 
it my fault? I wisli I could get sometliing. I'd work my 
fingers to the bone to keep my children." 

“ Robert, let me speak to you," she said, in an implor- 
ing tone, the tears gushing from her eyes. i liave sat 
here tliis week and asked myself, every liour of it, what 
we shall do. Our things to make money on are gone; 
the pittance we get allowed by the society does not keep 
body and soul together; and this state of things gets 
worse and will get worse. What is to become of us? 
Wliat are we to do?" 

Robert Darby leaned, in his old jacket — one consider- 
ably the worse for wear — against the kitchen wall, his 
countenance gloomy, his attitude bespeaking misery; he 
knew not what they were to do, therefore he did not at- 
tempt to say. Grace had laid down her inflamed face 
upon the edge of Willy's pillow and was sobbing silently. 

You have just said that you would work your fingers 
to the bone to keep your children," resumed Mrs. Darby 
to her husband. 

‘‘I'd work for them till the flesh dropped off mo. I’d 
ask no better than to do it," he vehemently said; “but 
where am I to get work to do now?" 

“ Baxendale has got it," she rejoined, in a low tone. 

Grace started from her leaning posture. “Oh, father, 
do as Baxendale has done! don't let the children quite 
starve. If you had been in work, this dreadful thing 
would not have happened: it will be a slur upon me for 
life." 

“So I would, girl, but for the Trades’ Union." 

“Father, the Traces' Unions seem to bring you no 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


161 


good» but harm. Don't trust them any longer; trust the 
masters now." 

Never was there a better meaning man than Robert 
Darby; but he was too easily swayed by others. Latterly 
it had appeared to him that the Trades’ Unions did bring 
him liarm, and his faith in them was shaken. “They’d 
cast me olf, you see,’’ he observed to his wife, in an irres- 
olute tone. 

“ What if they did? The masters would take you on. 
Stand right with the masters ’’ 

Mrs. Darby was interrupted by a shriek from Grace. 
Little Willy, whom nobody had been giving attention to, 
was lying back with a white face, senseless. Whether 
from the weakness of his condition, or from the unusual 
excitemetit of the scene going on around him, certain it 
was that the child had fainted. 

There was some little bustle in bringing him to, and 
Mrs. Darby sat down, the boy upon her lap. “ What 
ailed you, deary?" said Robert, bending down to him. 

“1 don’t know, father. Nothing." 

Mrs. Darby pulled her husband’s ear close to her lips. 
“ When the boy’s dead, you’ll wish you had cared for him 
more than for the Trades’ Unions, and worked for him." 

The words told upon the man. Perhaps for the first 
time he had fully realized to his imagination the moment 
when he should see his boy lying dead befoie him. “ I 
will woik," he exclaimed. “ Willy, boy, father’ll go and 
get work, Jind soon bring you home something good to 
eat, as he used to." 

Willy’s hot lips parted with a pleasant smile of response; 
his blue eyes glistened brightly. Robert Darby bent his 
rough, unshaven face, and took a kiss from the child’s 
smooth one. 

“ Yes, my boy; father will work." 

Tie went out, bending his way toward Slippery Sam’s — 
who, by the way, had latterly exacted the title of “Mr. 
Shuck." There was a code of honor — as they regarded 
it — amidst these operatives of the lliinters, to do nothing 
underhanded, without first speaking to the Union's 
man, Sam Shuck; as was mentioned in the case of Bax- 
endale. 

It Inippened that Mr. Shuck was standing in the strip 
of garden before his house, carrying on a wordy war over 


162 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


the palings with Mrs. Qnale, when Darby came up. 
Peter Quale had, of course, been locked out witli the 
rest, but, from the first hour that Mr. Hunter’s yard was 
open, Peter returned to work. He did not belong to the 
Trades’ Unions; never had, and never would; therefore, 
he was a free man. He was left to do as he liked in 
peace; somehow, the Union did not care to interfere with 
Peter Quale. Peter pursued his own course quietly — 
going to his work and returning from it, saying little to 
tlie malcontents of Daffodil’s Delight. Not so Mrs. 
Quale; she exercised her tongue upon them whenever she 
got the chance. 

“ Now, Robert Darby! how are them children of 
yonrn?” began she. “ Starved out 3^et?” 

“ Next door to it,” was Darby’s answer. 

“And whose is the fault?” she went on. “If I had 
cliildren, and my husband wouldn’t work to keep ’em 
out of their graves, through getting some nasty mistaken 
crotchet in his head, and holding out when the work was 
a-going begging, I’d go before a magistrate and see if I 
couldn’t have the law of him.” 

“You’d do a good many things if you wore the 
breeclies. But you don’t,” sneered Sam. 

“ You be wearing whole breeches now, which you get 
out of the blood and marrow of the poor misguided men,” 
retorted Mrs. Quale. “They won’t last out whole for- 
ever, Slippery Sam.” 

“ Thcv’ll last out as long as I want ’em to, I dare say,” 
said Sam. “ Have you come up for anything particular. 
Darby?” 

“I have come to talk a bit. Shuck. There seems to 
be no chance of this state of things coming to an end.” 

“No, that there doesn’t. You men are preventing 
that.” 

“Us men!” exclaimed Robert Darby in surprise. 
“AVhat do you mean?” 

“I don’t mean you; I don’t mean the sturdy, honest 
ones wlio hold out for their rights like men; I mean the 
other lot. If every operative in the kingdom had held 
out, to a man, the masters would have given in long ago 
— tliey must have done it; and you would all be back, 
working in triumph the nine hours per day. I spoke of 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


163 


those rats who sneak in, and take the work, to the detri- 
ment of tlie honest man/’ 

At any rate, the rats are getting the best of it just 
now,” said Robert Darby. 

“ That they are,” said Mrs. Quale, exultingly, who 
would not lose an opportunity of putting in lier word. 

It isn’t their children that are dropping into their wind- 
ing-sheets through want of food.” 

"Mf 1 had my way, I’d hang every man who in this 
crisis is putting his hand to a stroke of work,” exclaimed 
Sam Siuick. ‘^Traitors! to turn and work for masters 
after they had resorted to a lockout! It was that lockout 
that floored us.” 

‘^Of course it was,” assented Mrs. Quale, with com- 
plaisance. “If the Union only had money coming in 
from the men, they’d hold out forever. But the general 
lockout stopped that.” 

“ Well, Shuck, as things seem to be getting worse in- 
stead of better, and prospects look altogether so gloomy, 
I shall go back to work myself,” resumed Darby. 

“ Chut,” said Shuck. 

Will you tell me what I am to do? I’d rather turn a 
thousand miles the other way than I’d put my foot in- 
doors and see things as they are there. If a man can 
clam himself, he can’t watch those belonging to him clatn. 
Every farthing of allowance I had from the society last 
week, was ” 

“ You had your share,” interrupted Sam. “Think of 
the thousands there is to divide it among! The subscrip- 
tions have come in very well as yet, but they be falling olf 
now.” 

“And think of the society’s expenses,” interposed Mrs. 
Quale, with suavity. “ The scoj’es of gentlemen, like Mr. 
Sam Shuck, as there is to pay, and keep on the fat of the 
land.” 

“ Yon be smothered!” growled Sam. '^Ryan,” called 
out he to a man who was lounging up, “here’s Darby 
saying he thinks he shall go to work.” 

“Oh, blit that would be rich, by the powers!” laughed 
Ryan. “ Darby, man, you’d never desert the society! It 
couldn’t spare yon.” 

“ I want to do for the best,” said Darby; “ and it seems 
to me that to hold out is for the worst. Shuck, just an- 


1(54 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


swer me a question or two, as from man to man. If the 
masters fiirtheir yards with other operatives, what is to 
become of us?’^ 

“ They canT fill their yards with other operatives,” re- 
turned Sliuck. ‘‘ Wliere's the use of talking nonsense?” 

** But they can; they are doing it.” 

They are nob. They have got just a sprinkling of 
men for show — not many. Where are they to get them 
from ?” 

“ Do you know what I heard? That Mr. Henry Hun- 
ter has been over to Belgium, and one or two of tlie other 
masters liave also been, and ” 

Be shot to the Belgium workmen!” interrupted Ryan. 
‘‘Wlnit English master Tid employ them half-starved 
frogs!” 

“ I heard that Mr. Henry Hunter was quite thunder- 
struck at their skill,” continued Darby, paying no atten- 
tion to the interruption. “ Tiieir tools are bad: they are 
not to be called tools, compared to ours; but they turn 
out finished work. Their decorative work is beautiful. 
Mr. Henry put the question to them, whether they would 
like to come to England and earn five-and-sixpence per 
day, instead of three shillings, as they do there, and they 
jumped at it. He told them that perhaps he might be 
sending for them.” 

Where did you hear that fine tale?” asked Slippery 
Sam. 

“ It’s going about among ns. I dare say you have heard 
it also, Shuck. Mr. Henry was away somewhere for nine 
or ten days.” 

“ Let ’em come, them Belgicks,” sneered Ryan. 

Maybe they’d go back with their heads off. It 
couldn’t take much to split the skull of them French 
beggars. How dare the masters think of taking on for- 
ringers, and leaving us to starve?” 

“ But the preventing of it lies with ns,” said Darby. 

If we go back to work, there’ll be no room for them.” 

“ Daiby,” rejoined Siiuck, in a persuasive tone; ‘Met 
us just reason the matter. The bone of cojitention is the 
letting us work nine hours a day instead of ten; well, 
why should they not accord it? Isn’t there men, out- 
siders, willing to work a full day’s work, but can’t get 
it? This extra hour, thrown up by us, would give ein- 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


166 


ployment to them. Would the masters be any the worse 

They say tlieyM be the hour’s wages out of pocket.” 

“ Flam!” ejaculated Sam. It would come out of the 
public’s pocket, not out of the masters’. They would add 
so much the more on to their contracts, and nobody would 
be the worse. It’s just a surly feeling of obstinacy that’s 
upon ’em; it’s nothing else. They’ll come to it in the 
end, if you men will only let them. Hold out, hold out. 
Darby! If you are to give in to them now, where has 
been the use of this struggle? Haven’t you waited for it, 
and starved for it, and hoped for it?” 

^‘Very true,” replied Darby, feeling in a perplexing 
state of indecision. 

‘‘ Don’t give in, man, at the eleventh hour. A little 
longer, and the victory will be ours. You see, it is not 
the bare fact of your going back that does the mischief; 
it’s the example it sets. But for that scoundrel Baxen- 
dale’s turning tail, you would not have thought about it.” 

I don’t know that,” said Darby. 

One bad sheep will spoil a flock,” continued Sam, 
puffing away at a cigar which he was smoking. He 
would have enjoyed a pipe a great deal more; but gentle- 
men smoked cigars, and Sam wanted to look as much like 
a gentleman as he could; it had been suggested to him 
that it would add to his power over the operatives. ‘‘ Why, 
Darby, we have got it all in our own hands, if you men 
could but be brought to see it; it’s as plain as the nose 
before you. Us builders, taking us in all our bi-anches, 
might be the most united and prosperous body of men in 
the world. Only let us pull together, and have consider- 
ation for our fellows, and ])ut away selflshness. Binding 
ourselves, all of us, to work but nine hours — perhaps but 
eight, after a bit, we should ” 

‘‘It is a good thing you have not got much of an audi- 
ence here, Sam Shuck f That doctrine of yours is false 
and pernicious — in antagonism to the laws of God and 
man.” 

The interruption proceeded from Dr. Bevary. He had 
come into the garden unperceived by Sam, who was 
lounging on the side palings, his back to the gate. The 
doctor had come to pay a visit to Mary Baxendale. 

Sam started up. “ What did you say, sir?” 


16 « 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


'MVliat did I say?’' repeated Dr. Bevary. I think it 
should be, what did you say? You would dare toeircurn- 
scribe the means G(‘d has given to man — to set a limit to 
his talents and his labor! You would say, ^So far 
shall you work, and no farther!’ Who are yon, and 
all such as you, that you should assume such power, 
and set yourselves up between God and your fellow- 
men?” 

‘‘ Hear, hear!” interrupted Mrs. Quale, putting her 
head out at her window, for she had gone indoors. 

‘‘ I liave been a hard worker for years,” continued Dr. 
Bevary. Mentally and practically I have toiled— 

Sam Shuck — to improve and make use of the talents in- 
trusted to me. My days are spent in alleviating, so far 
as may be, the sufferings of my fellow-creatures; when 
I go to rest, I often lie awake half the night, pondering 
abstruse questions of medical science, considering over 
new theories. What man living has God endowed with 
power to come and say to me, ‘You shall not do this; 
you shall only work half your hours; yon shall only earn 
a limited amount of fees?’ Answer me.” 

“ It is not a parallel case, sir, with ours,” returned 
Sam. 

“It is a parallel case,” said Dr. Bevary. “There’s 
your friend next door, Peter Quale; by diligence he has 
made himself into a finished artisan; by dint of industry, 
in working over hours, he has amassed a competence that 
will keep him out oftlie workhouse in his old age. What 
reason or principle of justice can there be in your saying, 
‘lie shall not do this; he shall receive no more than I do, 
or than Kyan there does? Because Ryan is an inferior 
workman, and I love idleness and drink better than work. 
Quale ;ind others shall not work to have an advantage 
over us; we will all share and fare alike.’ Out upon you. 
Slippery Sam, for promulgating doctrines so false! "you 
must be the incarnation of selfishness or you could not do 
it. They can never obtain sway in free and enlightened 
England. As well become Mormons at once, and throw 
all labor into one lot.” 

The doctor stepped into Shuck’s house on his way to 
Mary, leaving Sam on the gravel. Sam put his arm 
within Darby’s, and led him down the street, out of the 
doctor’s way, when he should come forth, and set him- 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


167 


self to undo what the doctors words had done, and to 
breatlie persuasive arguments into Darby’s ear. 

Darby went home. It h'ad grown dusk then, for vSam 
had treated him to a glass at the “ Bricklayer's Arms,” 
where sundry other friends were taking their glasses. 
There appeared to be a commotion in his house as he 
entered; his wife, Grace, and the young ones were with- 
drawing from standing round Willy. 

He has had another fainting fit,” said Mrs. Darby to 
her husband. And now — I declare illness is the strang- 
est thing! — he says he is hungi-y.” 

The child put out his hot hand. ‘^Father!” 

Robert Darby advanced and took it. 

‘‘Be you better, dear? What ails you this evening?” 

“ Father,” whispered the child, hopefully, “ have you 
got the work?” 

“ When do you begin, Robert? To-morrow?” 

Darby's eyes fell, and his face clouded. “I can't ask 
for it,” he answered. “The society won't let me.” 

A great cry. A cry from the mother, from Grace, 
from the poor little child. Hope had lighted up once 
more within them. “You shall soon have food; father's 
going to work again, darlings,” the motherhad saidto the 
hungry little ones, and now the hopes were dashed. The 
disappointment was bitter. 

“Is he to die of hunger?” exclaimed Mrs. Darby in 
bitterness, pointing to Willy. “You said you would 
work for him.” 

“So I would, if they'd let me. I'd work the life out 
of me, but what I’d get a crust for ye all; but the Trades' 
Union won't have it,” panted Darby. “What am I to 
do?” 

“ Work without the Trades' Union, father,” interposed 
Grace. “Baxendale has done it.” 

“ They are threatening Baxendale awfully. But it is 
not that I'd care for. The society would put a mark 
upon me. I should bo a banned man; and when this 
struggle's over, they say, I should be let get work by 
neither masters nor men. My tools be in pledge, too.” 

Mrs. Darby threw her apron over her eyes and burst 
into tears; Grace was already crying, and the boy had 
his imploring little hands held up. “Robert, they be 


168 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


your own children! I never thought youM see them 
starve/’ 

Another minute, and the man would have cried with 
them. He went out-of-doors, perhaps to sob liis emotion 
away. Two or three steps down the street he encountered 
John Baxendale. The latter slipped five shillings into 
his hand. 

^^Tut, man; don’t be squeamish. Take it for the 
children. You’d do as mucli for mine, if you liad got 
it and 1 hadn’t. Mary and I have been talking about 
} heard you having an argument with that snake. 



They be starving, Baxendale, or I wouldn’t take it,” 
returned the man, tiie tears running down his pinched 
face. ‘^I’il pay you back with the first work I get. I 
say, have a care of yourself; they are going on again you 
at a fine rate.” 

Come what would. Darby determined to furnish a 
home meal with this relief, which seemed like a help 
from Heaven. He bought two pounds of beef sausages, 
ready cooked, for their frying pan was in pledge; apound 
of clieese, some tea, some sugar, two loaves of bread, and 
a lemon to make drink for Willy. Turning home with 
these various treasures, he became aware that a bustle liad 
arisen in the street; men and women were pressing down 
toward one particular spot. Tongues were busy; but he 
could not at first obtain an insight into the cause of the 
stir. 

An obnoxious man had been set upon in a lonely 
corner, under cover of tile night’s darkness, and pitched 
into — beaten to death,” was at length exi)lained. 

Away flew Darby, a horrible suspicion at his heart. 
Pushing his way amidst the crowd collected round the 
spot, as only a j’esolute man enn do, he stood face to face 
with the sight. One, trampled on a*id beaten, lay in the 
dust, his face covered with blood. “Is it Baxendale?” 
shouted Darby, for he was unable to recognize him. 

“ It’s Baxendale, as sure as a trivet. Who else should 
it be? He have caught it at last.” 

But there were pitying faces around. Humanity re- 
volted at the sight; and quiet, inoffensive John Baxendale 
had ever been liked in Daffodil’s Delight. Robert Darby, 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


169 


his voice rising to a shriek with emotion, held out his arm- 
ful of provisions. 

'‘Look here! I wanted to work, but the Union won^t 
let me. My wife and children be a-starvingat home, one 
of them dying: 1 came out, for I couldn’t bear to stop in- 
doors in the misery. Then I met a friend — it seemed to 
me more like an angel — and he gave me money to feed 
my children — made me take it; he said if I had money 
and he not, Fd do as much for him. See what I bought 
with it; I was carrying it home for ‘my poor children, 
when this cry arose. Friends, the one to give it me was 
Baxendale, and you have murdered him.” 

Another great cry, even as Darby concluded, arose to 
break the deep stillness. No stillness is so deep as that 
caused by emotion. 

" lie is not dead!” shouted the crowd. " See! he is 
stirring. What devils was it as pitched into him?” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The winter was coming in intensely hard. Frost and 
snow lay early upon tlie ground. Was that affliction in 
store — a bitter winter — to be added to the already fearful 
distress existing in this dense metropolis? 

Distress of a different nature existed in the house of 
Mr. Hunter. It was a house of sorrow; for its mistress 
lay dying. The spark of life had long been flickering, 
and now its time to go out had come. 

Haggard, worn, pale, stood Mr. Hunter in his drawing- 
room. He was conversing with his brother Henry. 
Their topic was business; in spite of existing domestic 
woes, men of busines cannot long forget their daily occu- 
pation. 

" Of course I shall weather it,” Mr. Henry was saying, 
in answer to a question. "It will be a fearful loss with 
so much money and buildings standing still. Did it hist 
very much longer, I hardly know that I could. And you, 
James?” 

Mr. Hunter evaded the question. Since the time, 
years back, when they had dissolved partnership, he had 
shunned all allusion to his own prosperity or non-pros- 
perity, with his brother. Possibly he feared it might 


no 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


lead to that other subject— the mysterious paying away of 
the five thousand pounds. 

For iny part, I do not feel so sure of the strike’s be- 
ing near its end,” he remarked. 

I have positive information that the eligibility of 
withdrawing the strike at the Messrs. Trollope’s has been 
mooted by the central committeeof the Union,” said Mr. 
Henry. ‘Hf nothing else has brought the men to their 
senses, this weather will do it. It will end as nearly all 
strikes have ended — in their resuming work upon our 
terms.” 

“But what an incalculable amount of suffering they 
have brought upon themselves!” exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 
“I do not see what is to become of them, either, in fu- 
ture: how are they all to find work again? We shall not 
turn off the stranger men who have worked for us in this 
emergency, to make room for them.” 

“Ho, indeed,” replied Mr. Henry. “And those 
strangers amount to half my complement of hands. 
Do you recollect a chap of the name of Moody?” 

“Of course I do. I met him the Other day, look- 
ing like a walking skeleton. I asked him whether he 
was not tired of the strike. He said he had been tired 
of it long ago; but the Union would not let him be.” 

“ He hung himself yesterday.” 

Mr. Hunter replied only by a gesture. 

“ And left a written paper behind him, cursing the 
‘strike and the Trades’ Unions, which had brought 
ruin upon him and his family.’ I saw the paper. A 
decent, quiet man he was, but timorous, and easily led 
away.” 

“ Is he dead ?” 

“ He had been dead two hours when he was found. Ho 
hung himself in that shed at the back of Dunn’s liouae, 
where the men held a meeting or two in the commence- 
ment of the strike. I wonder how many more this 
wretched state of affairs will send, or has sent, out of the 
world!” 

“ Hundreds, directly or indirectly. The children are 
dying off quickly, as the registrar-general’s returns show. 
A period of prolonged distress always tells upon the chil- 
dren. And upon us, also, I think,” Mr. Hunter added, 
with a sigh. 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


171 


''Upon us in a degree/^ Mr. Henry assented, somewhat 
carelessly. He was a man of substance; and upon such, 
the ill effects fell lightly. When the masters act m 
combination, as we have done, it is not the men who can 
do us perman?nt harm. They must give in before great 
harm has had time to come. James. I saw that man this 
morning; your bete noire, as 1 call him.^^ 

Mr. Hunter changed countenance. He could not be 
ignorant that his brother alluded to Gwinn, of Ketter- 
ford. It happened that Mr. Henry Hunter had been 
cognizant of one or two of the unpleasant visits forced by 
the man upon his brother, during the last few years. 
But Mr. Henry had avoided questions; he had the tact to 
perceive that they would be deemed unpleasant. 

" I met him near your yard. Perhaps he was going in 
there.” 

The knock of a visitor was heard at the front door as 
Mr. Henry spoke, and Mr. Hunter started like one struck 
by a pistol-shot. Tlie mention of Gwinn's name at that 
moment evidently led his thoughts to the supposition 
that he might be the visitor; he backed away from the 
door, unconscious what he did in his fear and tremor, 
his lips blanching to a deadly whiteness. " I cannot see 
him! 1 cannot see him!” Mr. Henry moved up and took 
his hand. 

James, there has been estrangement between us on 
this point for years. As I asked you once before, I now 
ask you again; confide in me and let me help you. What- 
ever the dreadful secret may be, you shall find me your true 
brother.” , 

Hush!” breathed Mr. Hunter, moving his brother off 
in his scared alarm. ‘‘Dreadful secret! who says it? 
There is no dreadful secret. Oh, Henry! hush! hush!” 

Not the dreadful man, but Austin Olay was the one 
who entered. Mr. Hunter sat down, breathing heavily, 
the blood coming back to his face; he nearly fainted in 
the revulsion of feeling brought by the relief. Broken 
in spirit, shattered in health, the slightest thing was now 
sufficient to agitate him. 

“ You are ill, sir!” exclaimed Austin, advancing with 
concern. 

‘‘No— no — I am not ill. A momentary spasm, which 
I am subject to.” 


172 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


Mr. Henry moved to the door. I will come in again 
later, James, to see how Louisa is.” 

“ Wlio has been to the office to day?” Mr. Hunter in- 
quired of Austin, as his brother went out. 

“ Let me see. Lyall came, and Thompson ” 

^^Not men on business, not men on business,” he in- 
terrupted, with feverish eagerness — ^‘ strangers.” 

Austin Olay turned his face away as he answered: 
‘^Gwinn of Ketterford. He came twice. No other 
strangers have called, I think.” 

Whether his brother’s suggestion, that he should be en- 
lightened as to the ‘^dreadful secret” had rendered Mr. 
Hunter suspicious that others might surmise that there 
was a secret, certain it is that he looked up sharply as 
Austin spoke, keenly regarding his countenance, noting 
the sound of his voice. 

What did he want?” 

He wanted you, sir. I said you were not to be seen. 
I let him suppose that you were too ill to be seen. Baiiey, 
who was in the counting-house at the time, gave him the 
gratuitous information that Mrs. Hunter was in danger.” 
Why this answer should have increased Mr. Hunter’s 
suspicions he best knew. He rose from his seat, grasped 
Austin’s arm, and spoke with menace. 

You have been prying into my affairs. You sought 
out those people — the Gwinns — when you last went to 
Ketterford. You ” 

Austin withdrew from the grasp and stood before his 
master, calm and upright. Mr. Hunter!” 

Was it not so?” 

No, sir. I thought you had known me better. I 
should be the last to ^ pry’ into anything that you might 
wish to keep secret.” 

Austin, I am not myself to-day. I am not myself; I 
know not what I say. This grief, induced by the state 
of Mrs. Hunter, unmans me.” 

How is she, sir, by this time?”’ 

‘‘Calm and collected, but sinking fast. You must go 
up and see her. She said she would like to bid you fare- 
well.” 

Through the warm corridors, so well protected from 
the bitter cold reigning without, Austin was conducted 
to the room of Mrs. Hunter. Florence, her eyes swollen 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


ns 


from weeping, quitted it as he entered. She lay in bed, 
lier pale face raised upon pillows; save for that pale face 
and the labored breatliing, you would not have suspected 
the closing scene to be so near. She raised her feeble 
hand and made prisoner of Austin’s; the tears gathered 
in his eyes as he looked down upon her. 

Not for me, my dear,” she whispered, as she noted 
the signs of sorrow. ‘‘ Weep rather for those who are 
left to battle yet with this sad world.” 

Austin swallowed down the lump that was rising in his 
throat. “Do you feel no better?” he gently inquired. 

“I feel very well, save for the weakness. Austin, I 
shall be glad to go. I have only one regret — the leaving 
Florence. My husband will not be long after me; I read 
it in his face.” 

“ Dear Mrs. Hunter, will you allow me to say a word 
to you on the subject of Florence? I have wished to do 
it before we finally part.” 

“Say what you will.” 

“Should time and perseverance on my part subdue the 
prejudices of Mr. Hunter, and I succeed in winning Flor- 
ence, will you not say that you bless our union?” 

Mrs. Hunter paused. “Are we quite alone?” she 
asked. 

Austin glanced round to the closed door. “Quite,” he 
answered 

“Then, Austin, I will say more; my hearty consent 
and blessing he upon you both, if you can, indeed, sub- 
due the objection of Mr. Hunter. Not otherwise: you 
understand that.” 

“ Without her father’s consent, I am sure that Flor- 
ence would not have me. Have you any idea in what that 
objection lies?” 

“I have not. Mr. Hunter is not a man who will sub- 
mit to be questioned, even by me. But, Austin, I can- 
not help thinking that this objection to you may fade 
away — for, that he likes and esteems you greatly, I know. 
Should tliat time come, then tell him that I loved you — 
that I wished Florence to become your wife — that I 
prayed God to bless the union. And tell Florence.” 

“ Will you not tell her yourself?” 

Mrs. Hunter made a feeble gesture of denial. “It 
would seem like an encouragement to dispute the decision 


174 


A LTFE^S SECRET. 


of her father. Austin, will you say farewell, and send 
my husband to me. I am growin.jy faint."’^ 

He clasped her- attenuated hands in both his; he bent 
down and kissed her forehead. Mrs. Hunter held him 
toiler. ^‘Cherish and love her always, should she be- 
come yours, was the feeble whisper. ‘^And come to 
me, both of you, in eternity.” 

A moment or two in the corridor to compose himself, 
and Austin met Mr. Hunter on the stairs, and gave him 
the message. How is Baxendule?” Mr. Hunter said; 
''I forgot to inquire.” 

A trifle better. Not yet out of danger.” 

You take care to give him the allowance weekly?” 

Of course I do, sir. It is duo to-night, and I am 
going to take it to him.” 

“ Will he ever be fit for work again?” 

** I hope so.” 

Austin departed, and Mr. Hunter entered his wife's 
chamber. Florence, who was also entering, Mrs. Hunter 
feebly waved away. 

“ I would be a moment alone with your father, my 
child. James,” Mrs. Hunter said to her husband, as 
Florence retired — but her voice was now so reduced that 
he had to bend his ear to catch the sounds — there has 
been estrangement between us on one point for many 
years; and it seems — I know not why — to be haunting my 
death-bed. Will you not in this my last hour tell me its 
cause?” 

“ It would not give you peace, Louisa. It concerns 
myself alone.” 

** Whatever the secret maybe, it has been wearing your 
life out: I ought to know it.” 

Mr. Hunter bent lower. My dear wife, it would not 
bring you peace, I say. I contracted a debt in my 
thoughtless youth,” he whispered, in answer to the yearn- 
ing glance thrown up to him, and I have had to pay it 
off — one sum after another, one after another, till it has 
nearly drained me. It will soon be at an end now.” 

“ It IS nearly paid?” 

Ay. All but.” 

“ But why not have told me this? It would have 
saved me many a troubled hour. Suspense when fancy 
is at work, is hard to boar. And yon, James, why 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


175 


should simple debt have worked so terrible a fear upon 
you r 

“I did not know that I could stave it off; looking 
bjick, I wonder that I did do it. 1 could have borne ruin 
for myself: I could not for you.'’' 

‘‘ Oil, James!" she fondly said, '^should I have been 
less brave? AVhile you and Florence were spared to me, 
ruin might have done its worst." 

Mr. Hunter turned liis face away; strangely wrung and 
haggard it looked just then. 

‘‘ What a mercy that it is over!" 

‘‘All but, I said," he interrupted. And the words 
seemed to burst from him in an uncontrollable impulse, 
in spite of himself. 

“ It is the only thing that h3.s marred our life’s peace, 
James. In the blessed life to come there will be nothing 
to mar it. We shall be at rest forever. Perfect peace! 
perfect happiness! May all we have loved be there! I 
can see " 

The words had been spoken disjointedly, in tlio faint- 
est whisper, and, with the last, died away. She laid her 
head upon her husband’s arm, and seemed as if she 
would sleep. He did not disturb her; he remained 
buried in his own thoughts. 

A short while, and Florence was heard at the door. 
Dr. Bevary was there. 

“You can come in," called out Mr. Hunter. 

They approached the bed. Florence saw a change in 
her mother’s face, and uttered an exclamation of alarm. 
The physician’s practiced eye detected what had hap- 
pened: he made a sign to the nurse, who had followed 
him in, and the woman went forth to carry the news to 
the household. iMr. Hunter alone was cairn. “ Thank 
God!" was his strange ejaculation. 

“ Oh, papa! papa! it is death!" sobbed Florence, in her 
distress. “ Do you not see that it is death?" 

“ Thank God also, Florence," solemnly said Dr. Bevary. 
“ She is better off." 

Florence sobbed wildly. The words sounded to her 
ears needlessly cruel — out of place. Mi-. Hunter bent his 
face on that of the dead, with a long, fervent kiss. “ My 
wronged wife!" he mentally uttered. Dr. Bevary followed 
him as he left the room. 


176 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


James Hunter, it had been a mercy if God had taken 
her years ago/’ 

Mr. Hunter lifted his liands as if beating otf the words, 
and his face turned white. ^^Be still! be still: what can 
you know?” 

“I know as much as yon,” said Dr. Bevary, in a tone 
which, low though it was, seemed to penetrate to the very 
marrow of the unhappy man. *^The knowledge has dis- 
turbed my peace by day, and my rest by night. AVhat, 
then, must it have done by yours?” 

James Hunter, his hands I'cld up still, to shade his 
face, and his head down, slunk away. ‘‘ It was the fault 
of another,” he wailed, and I have borne the punish- 
ment.” 

Ay,” said Dr. Bevary, or you would have had my 
reproaches long asfo. Hark! whose voice is that?” 

It was one known only too well to Mr. Hunter. He 
cowered for a moment, as he had hitherto had terrible 
cause; the next, he raised his head and shook off the 
fear. "‘Thank God!” he repeated, as he had done in 
the death-room, “I can dure him now.” 

The servants had been closing up the windows of the 
liouse, as is onr custom when mourning for the dead, 
when Gwinn of Ketterfoid arrived at it. He saw what 
was being done, and drew his own conclusions; never- 
theless, he desisted not from the visit he had come to 
pay. 

“I wish to see Mr. Hunter,” he said, when the door 
was opened. 

“I do not think you can see him now, sir,” was the 
reply of the servant. “ My master is in great affliction.” 

“ You mistress is dead, 1 suppose?” 

“Just dead.” 

“ Well, I shall not detain Mr. Hunter many minutes. 
I must see him.” 

The servant hesitated. But his master’s voice was 
heard calling to him. “ You can admit that person, 
Richard.” 

The man retreated into the hall, and opened the door 
of the front room. It was in darkness; so he turned and 
opened the door of the other, ajul showed the guest in. 
The soft perfume from the odoriferous plants in the con- 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


177 


servatory was wafted to the senses of Gwinn, of Ketter- 
ford, as he entered. 

‘MVhy do yon seek me here?” demanded Mr. Hunter 
wlien he appeared. “Is it a fitting time and place?” 

“A court of law might perhaps be more fit,” insolently 
returned the lawyer. “ Wliy did you not remit the money, 
according to promise, and so obviate the necessity of my 
coming?” 

“ liecause I shall remit no more money. Hot another 
farthing, or the value of one, shall you ever obtain of me. 
If I luive submitted to your ruinous and swindling de- 
mands, you know why I have done it 

“ Stop!” interrupted Mr. Gwinn. “ You have had your 
money^s worth — silence.” 

Mr. Hunter was deeply agitated. “As the bi*eath went 
out of my wife’s body, I thanked God tLuit he had taken 
her — that she was removed from the wicked machina- 
tions of you and yours. But for the bitter wrong dealt 
out to me by your wicked sister Agatha, I should have 
mourned for her with regrets and tears. You have made 
my life a curse; I purchased your silence that you should 
not render hers one. The fear and the thralldom are 
alike over.” 


]\Ir. Gwinn laughed significantly. “Your daughter 
lives.” 

“She docs. In saying that I will miake her cognizant 
of this, rather than supply you with another sixpence, 
you may judge how firm is my determination.” 

“ It will be startling news for her.” 

“It will: should it come to the telling. Better that 
she hear it, and make the best and the worst of it, than 
t'lat I should I'ednce her to utter poverty — and your de- 
mands, supplied, would do that. The news will not kill 
her — as it might have killed her mother.” 

Did Lawyer Gwinn feel baffled? “ I will have money,” 
he exclaimed. “You have tried to stand out against it 
before now.” 

“Man! do von know that I am on the brink of ruin?” 
uttered jMr. Hunter, in deep excitement, “ and that it is 
you who have brought me to it? But for the money 
supplied to you, I could have weathered successfully this 
contest with my workmen, as my brother and others ai‘o 
weathering it. If you have any further claim against 


178 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


me,” ho added, in a spirit of mocking bitterness, ^^bring 
it into my bankruptcy, for that is looming near.” 

I will not stir from your house witliout a check for 
the money.” 

This house is sanctified by the presence of the dead,” 
reverently spoke Mr. Hunter. ‘‘To have any disturb- 
ance in it would be most unseemly. Do not force mo to 
call in a policeman.” 

“As a policeman was once called in to you, in tho3*car3 
gone by,” Lawyer Gwinn was beginning, with a sneer: 
but Mr. Hunter raised his voice and his hand. 

“Bo still! Coward as I have been, in one sense, in 
yielding to your terms, I have never been coward enough 
to permit yoic to allude, in my presence, to the past. I 
never will. Go from my house quietly, sir; and do not 
attempt to.re-enter it.” 

Mr. Hunter broke from the man — for he made an effort 
to detain him — ojiened tlie door, and called to the servant, 
who came forward. 

“Show this person to the door, Richard.” 

An instant^s hesitation with himself, whether it should 
be compliance or resistance, and Gwinn of Ketterford 
went forth. 

“ Richard,” said Mr. Hunter, as the servant closed the 
hall door. 

“Sir!’' 

“Should that man ever come here again, do not admit 
him. And if he shows himself troublesome, call a po- 
liceman to your aid.” 

And theji Mr. Hunter shut himself in the room, and 
burst into heavy tears, such as are I'arely shed by man. 

The chief injury to John Baxendale had lain in the 
ribs. Two or three of them were broken; the head also 
had been much bruised and cut. He had been taken 
into his own home, and there attended to; it was nearer 
than the hospital; though the latter would have been the 
better place. No clew could be obtained to his assailants. 

Never would John Baxendale talk of the harshness of 
masters again — though, indeed, he had never much talked 
of it. The moment Mr. Hunter heard of the assault, he 
sent round his own surgeon, and also directed Austin to 
give Baxendh-le a sovereign weekly. And that was the ^ 
same man whom you heard forbidding his wife and 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


179 


daughter to forward aid to Darby’s starving children. 
Yes; but Mr. Hunter denied the aid upon principle. 
Dari)y would not work. It pleased him far more to 
accord it to Baxendale than to deny it to Darby: the one 
course gladdened his heart, the other pained it. The 
surgeon who attended was a particular friend of Dr, 
Bevary’s, and tlie doctor, in his quaint, easy manner, 
contrived to let Baxendale know that there would be no 
bill for him to pay. 

It was late when Austin reached Baxendale’s room that 
evening. ‘‘Oh, sir,” uttered the invalid, straining his 
eyes on him from the sick-bed, before Austin had well 
entered, “ is the news true?” 

“It is,” sadly replied Austin. “She died this after- 
noon.” 

“It is a good lady gone from among us. Does the 
master take on much?” 

“I liave not seen him since. Death came on rather 
suddenly at the last.” 

“ Poor Mrs. Hunter!” wailed Baxendale. Hers is 
not the only spirit that is this evening on the wing,” he 
added after a pause. “That boy of Darby’s is going. 
Mary” — looking on the bright sovereign put into his 
hands by Austin — “suppose you go down there and take 
them a couple of shillings? It’s hard to have a cupboard 
quite empty when death’s a visitor. 

i\Iary hastened to obey. Austin wondered how Mr. 
Hunter would approve of any of his shillings finding their 
■way to Darby’s; but he said nothing against it. But for 
the strongly expressed sentiments of Mr. Hunter, Austin 
w'ould have given awny right and left to relieve tiie dis- 
tresses around iiim; although, put him upon principle, 
and he agreed fully with Mr. Hunter. 

Mary changed her sovereign, and took possession of a 
couple" of shi. lings. It was a bitterly cold evening; but 
she was well wrapped up. Though not permanently bet- 
ter, Mary was stronger of late; in her simple laith, she 
beli(ived God had mercifully spared her for a short while, 
that she might nni'se her "father. She knew just as did 
Di*. Be vary, that it would not be for long. As she went 
along she met Mrs. Quale, 

“The child is gone,” said the lattei', liearing where 
Mary was going. 


180 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


^^Poor childl Is he really dead?” 

Mrs. Quale nodded. Few things upset her equanim- 
ity. ‘‘ And I am keeping my eyes open to look out for 
Darby,” she added. ‘‘ His wife asked me if I would. 
She is afraid ” — dropping her voice — “ that he may do 
something rash.” 

“AVliy?” breathed Mary, in a tone of horror, under- 
standing the allusion. 

“ Why!” vehemently repeated Mrs. Quale; “why, be- 
cause he reflects upon himself — tluiFs why. Wiien he 
saw that the breath was really gone out of the poor little 
body — and that’s not five minutes ago — he broke out like 
one mad. Them quiet natures in ordinary be always the 
worst if they get upset; though it takes a good deaf to do 
it. lie cursed himself, saying that if he had been in 
work, and able to get proper food for the boy, it would 
not have happened; and he cui-sed the Trades’ Unions 
for misleading him, and bringing him to what he is. 
There’s many another cursing ihe Unions on this in- 
clement night, or niy name ain’t Nancy Quale.” 

She turned with Mary, and they entered the home of 
the Darby’s. Grace, unable to get another situation, 
through the baker’s wife refusing her a character, looked 
worn and thin, as she stood trying to hush the young- 
est child, which was crying fretfully. Mrs. Darby satin 
front of the small bit of fire, the dead boy on her knees, 
pressed to her still, just as Mrs. Quale had left her. 

“ lie won’t hunger any more,” she said, lifting her face 
to Mary, the hot tears running from it. 

Mary stooped and kissed the little cold face. “ Don’t 
grieve,” she murmured. “It would be well for us all if 
we were as happy as he.” 

“ Go and speak to him,” whispered the mother to Mrs. 
Quale, pointing to a back door. “He has come in, and 
is gone out there.” 

Leaning against the wall, in the cold moonlight, stood 
Eobert Darby. Mrs. Quale was not very good at consola- 
tion; finding fault was more in her line. “ Come, Darby, 
don’t take on so; it won’t do no good. Be a man.” 

He seized hold of her, his shaking hands trembling. 

“ Ifow is it that God allows these trades’ unions — al- 
lows them to thrive and brew mischief, and persuade us 
into ill — ill that brings death?” 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


181 


Don't be a fool, Robert D.u-by," was tlio indis^iiant 
rejoinder of Mrs. Quale. “Haven’t you been taiio-ht in 
your catechism not to take that mime in vain? You may 
as well say, why are bad men let live, and why does wick- 
edness prosper? You are not obliged to join the ti-ades’ 
unions. If you and others kept aloof from them, they’d 
soon die away." 

“ They have proved a curse to me and mine " — and the 
man's voice rose to a shriek, in his violent emotion. “ But 
for them I should be at work long ago." 

“ Then I’d go to work at once, if it was me, and put 
the curse from me that way," concluded Mrs. Quale. 


CHAPTER XVIT. 

Daffodil's Delight and its environs were in a state 
of bustle — of public excitement, as may be said. Daffo- 
dil's Delight never failed to seize hold upon any pos- 
sible event, whether of a general public nature or of a 
private local nature, as an excuse for getting up a little 
steam. On that cold winter’s day two funerals were ap- 
pointed to take place: the one, that of Mrs. Hunter; the 
other, of little AVilliam Darby, and Daffodil’s Delight, in 
spite of the black frost, turned out in crowds to see. 

You could not have passed into the sqnai’e when the 
large funeral came forth, so many had collected there. 
It was a funeral of mutes, and plumes, and horses, and 
carriages, and show; the nearer Mr. Hunter had grown 
to pecuniary embarrassment, the more jealous was he to 
guard all suspicion of it from the public. He followed 
as chief mourner: and in the wake of him, amongst 
maiiy other mourners, were his brother Henry, Dr. 
Bevary and Austin Clay. 

That took place in the morning. In the afternoon, 
the coffin of the boy, covered by something black — but it 
looked more like old cloth than velvet — was brought out 
of the house upon men’s shoulders. Part of the family 
followed, and pretty nearly the whole of Daffodil’s De- 
light brought up the rear. 

When the child died, things were at so low an ebb with 
the Darbys, that sundry kind gossips suggested, and pro- 
mulgated tlie suggestion fora fact, that the parish would 
have the honor of conducting the interment. Darby 


183 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


would have sold himself first. He went to Mr. Hunter’s 
yard on the morning subsequent to the death, the in- 
stant the gates were opened, and presented himself to 
the foreman as a candidate for work. That functionary 
would not treat with him. 

We have liad so many of you old hands just coming 
on for a day or two, and tlien withdrawing again, 
through orders of the society, or through getting fright- 
ened at being threatened, that Mr. Clay said. I was to 
take back no more shilly-shallyers.” 

‘‘Try me!” feverishly cried Darby. “ I will not go 
from it again.” 

“ No,” said the foreman. “You can speak to Mr. 
Clay.”, 

“ Darby,” said Austin, when the man appeared before 
him, “will you pass your word to me to remain? Here 
men come, they sign the document, they have work as- 
signed them; and in a day or so I hear that they have 
left again. It causes no end of confusion to us, for work 
to be taken up and laid down in that way.” 

“ Take me on, and try me, sir! I’ll stick to it as long 
as there’s a stroke of work to do — unless they tread me to 
pieces as they did B.-ixendale. I never was cordial for the 
society, sir. I obeyed it, and yet a doubt was always upon 
me whether I might not be doing wrong, I am sure of it 
now. The society has worked harm to me and mine, and 
I will never belong to it again.” 

“ Others have said as much, and have returned to it 
the next day,” remarked Mr. Clay. 

“Perhnps so, sir. They hadn’t seen one of their chil- 
dren die that they’d have laid down their own lives to save 
— but that they had not loorhed to save. Take me on, 
sir! He can’t be buried till I have earned the where- 
withal to pay for it. I’ll stand to my work from hence- 
forth — over liours, if lean get it.” 

Austin wrote a word on a card, and desired Darby to 
carry it to the foreman. “You can go to w’ork at once,” 
he said. 

“ I’ll take work, too, sir, if I can get it,” exclaimed an- 
other man, who had come up in time to hear Austin’s last 
words. 

“What! is it you, Abel AYhite?” exclaimed Austin, 
with a half laugh. “ I thought you made a boast that if 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


m 

the whole lot of hands came back to work you never 
would, except upon your own terms.” 

So I did, sir. But when I find I have been in the 
wrong, I am not above owning it,” was the man’s reply, 
who looked in a far better physical condition tlian the 
pinched, half-starved Darby. I could hold out longer, 
sir, without much inconvenience; leastways, with a deal 
less inconvenience than some of ’em could, for I and 
fatlier belong to one or two provident clubs, and they 
have helped us weekly, and my wife and daughters don’t 
do amiss at their umbrella work. But I have come over 
to father’s views at last; and I have made my mind up, 
as he did, never, please God, to be a Union man again — 
unless the masters should turn round and make them- 
selves into a body of tyrants; I don’t know what I might 
do then. But there ain’t much danger of that, as father 
says, in these go-a-head days. You’ll give me work, 
sir?” 

*^Upon conditions,” replied Austin, as he proceeded to 
talk to him. 

But we have been leaving Willy Darby’s funeral. 
There it is, moving slowly down Daffodil’s Delight. Not 
over-slowly either; for tliere had been a delay in some of 
the arrangements, and the clergyman must have been 
waiting for half an hour. It was a week since Darby re- 
sumed work; a long while to keep the child, but the 
season was winter. Darby had paid part of the expense, 
and been trusted for the rest. 

It arrived at the burial place; and the little body was 
buried, there to remain until the resurrection at the last 
day. As Darby stood over the grave, the regret for his 
child was nearly lost sight of in the far more bitter re- 
gret and remorse for having kept the dead starving for 
months, when work was to be had for the asking. 

Don’t take on so,” whispered a neighbor who knew 
his thoughts. “If you had gone back to work as sooiias 
the yards were opened, you’d only have been set upon and 
half killed, like Baxendale.” 

“ Then it wmuld not, in that case, have been my fault 
if he had starved,” returned Darby with compressed 
lips. 

The shades of evening were on Daffodil’s Delight when 
the attendants at the funeral returned, and Mr. Cox, the 


184 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


pawnbroker, was busily transacting the business which 
tlie dusk hour always brought him. Even Daffodil's De- 
light, though they were common sufferers, and all, or 
nearly all, required to pay visits to Mr. Cox, imitated 
their betters in observing that peculiar reticence of man- 
ner which custom has thrown around these delicate ne- 
gotiations. 

Tlie character of their offerings had changed. In the 
first instance they had chiefly consisted of ornaments, 
whetlier of the house or person, or of superfluous articles 
of attire and of furniture, Then had come necessaries; 
bedding and heavier things, and then trifles, irons, sauce- 
pans, frying-pans, gowns, coats, tools, anything. Any- 
thing by which a shilling could be obtained. And now 
had arrived the climax when there was nothing more to 
take — nothing, at least, that Mr. Cox would speculate 
upon. 

There went banging into the shop Mrs. Dunn. Per- 
haps one of the most miserable households in Daffodil’s 
Delight was hers, take it for all in all; but it had not 
subdued the manner or the temper of Mrs. Dunn; they 
were fiercer than ever. /The non-realization of her fond 
hope of good cheer and silk dresses was looked upon as a 
private injury, and resented as such. See her as she 
turns into the shop; her head, a mass of torn black and 
entangled hair; her gown a black stuff once, dirty now, 
hanging in jags, and clinging round her with that 
peculiar cling which indicates that few, if any, petticoats 
are underneath; and her feet scuffling along in shoes tied 
around the instep with a white rag, to keep them on. 
As 55he was entering, she encountered a poor woman 
named Jones, the wife of a carpenter, as badly reduced 
as she was. Mrs. Jones held out a blanket, for her in- 
spection, and spoke with the tears running down her 
cheeks. 

“ We have kept it till the last. We said we could not 
lie on the sack of straw this awful weather without it to 
covei us. But to-day we haven’t got a crumb in the 
house or a ember in the grate, and Jones said, says he, 
'There ain’t no help for it: you must pledge it.’” 

"And Cox won’t take it in?” responded "Mrs. Dunn, in 
a ranting tone. 

The woman shook her head, and the tears fell fast on 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


185 


her thin cotton shawl as she walked away. He says 
the moths has got into it..^^ 

A pity bat the moths had got into him! his eyes are 
sharper than they need be/^ shrieked Mrs. Dnnn. “ Here, 
Cox/’ dashing np to the counter and flinging on it a pair 
of boots, want three shillings on them.” 

Mr. Cox took up the offered pledge. A thin pair of 
woman’s boots, black cloth with leather tips; new, they 
had probably cost five shillings, but they were now con- 
siderably the worse for wear. 

“ What is the use of bringing these old things?” re- 
monstrated Mr. Cox. ‘^They are worth nothing.” 

“Everything’s worth nothing according to you,” re- 
torted Mrs. Dunn. “Come! I want three shillings on 
them.” 

“I wouldn’t lend you eighteen pence. They’d not 
fetch it at auction.” 

Mrs. Dunn would have very much liked to fling the 
boots in his face; but, after some dispute, she conde- 
scended to ask what he would give. 

“ I’ll lend a shilling, as you are a customer, to oblige 
you. But I don’t care to take them in at all.” 

More dispute; and she brought her demand down to 
eighteen pence. 

“Not a penny more than a shilling,” was the firm 
reply. “ I tell you they are not worth that to me.” 

The boots were at length left, and the shilling taken. 
Mrs. Dunn solaced herself with a pint of half-and-half in 
a beer-shop, and went home with the change. 

Upon no home had the strike acted with worse effects 
than upon that of the Dunn’s. Irregularity had pre- 
vailed in it at the best of times; quarreling and conten- 
tion often; embarrassment, the result of bad manage- 
ment, frequently; upon such a home, distress, long 
continued, bitter distress was not likely to work for good. 
The father and a grown-up son were out of work; and 
tlie Misses Dunn were also thrown out of work. Tlteir 
patronesses, almost without exception, consisted of the 
ladies of Daffodil’s Delight, and, as you will readily con- 
jecture, they had no funds just now to expend upon 
gowns and their making. Not only this: there was, 
from one party or another, a good bit of money owing to 
the Misses Dunn for past work, and this they could not 


m 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


‘get. They might just as well have tisked for the moon, 
as for money, owing or not owing, from the distressed 
wives of Daffodil’s Delight. So, there they were: father, 
mother, sons, daughters, all debarred from earning 
money; while all, with the younger children in addition, 
had to be kept. It was wearying work, that forced idle- 
ness and that forced famine; and it worked badly, 
especially on the girls. Quarreling they were accustomed 
to; embarrassment they did not mind; irregularity in 
domestic affairs they had lived in all their lives; but they 
could not bear the distress that had now come upon 
them. Mrs. Quale had ffom the first recommended the 
two sisters to try for situations; but w’hen was advice 
ever taken? They tossed their heads at the idea of going 
out to service, and giving up their liberty, and their 
idleness; they urged that it might prevent them getting 
together again their business when things should look 
np; and they asked— and there was a good deal in the 
plea — how they were to go out, with their clothes in 
pledge. 

Mrs. Dunn went in. The room was stripped of all, 
save a few things," too old or too useless for Mr. Cox to 
take: and, save for a little fire, it presented a complete 
picture of poverty. The children lay upon the boards 
crying; not a loud cry, but a distressed moan. Very lit- 
tle indeed, even of bread, got those children; for James 
Dunn and his wife were too fond of beer to expend in much 
else the trifle allowed them by the I’rades’ Union. He, 
James Dunn, had come in since his wife left on her errand 
to the pawnbroker’s, and sat, moody and cross, upon a 
bench. He, with many more Avorkmen in a similar con- 
dition to himself, had been that day to one of the police 
courts, hoping to obtain pecuniary help from the magis- 
trates. The pint of half-and-half upon an empty stomach 
had not tended to render Mrs. Dunn of a calmer temper. 
Sh^ addressed him snappishly. 

‘‘ What, you have come in! Have you got any money?” 

Mr. Dunn made no reply, unless a growl that sounded 
rather defiant constituted one. She returned to the 
charge. 

‘‘Have you got any money, I ask? or be you come 
home again with a empty pocket?” 

“No, father hasn’t got none: they didn’t get any good 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


187 


by going there/^ said Jemima Dunn, who appeared to be 
looking in all sorts of corners and phices, as if in search 
of sometliing. “ Ted Cheek told me about it, and he was 
one of ^em. The magistrate said to the men that there 
was plenty of work open for them if they liked to do it; 
and his opinion was, that if they did not like to do it, 
they wanted punishment instead of assistance/^ 

James Dunn broke out intern perately, with violent 
words. And then he relapsed into his gloomy mood 
again. 

*‘l can’t think what’s gone with my boots,” exclaimed 
Jemima. 

Mother took ’em out,” responded Jacky. 

The girl turned round; stood still for a moment as if 
taking in the sense of the wonls; then she attacked her 
mother, anger flashing from her eyes. 

‘‘ Jf you liave been and took ’em to the pawnshop, you 
shall fetch ’em back. How dare you interfere with my 
things? Aren’t they my boots? Didn’t I buy ’em with 
my own money?” 

If you don’t hold your tongue, I’ll box your ears,” 
shrieked Mrs. Dunn, with a look and gesture as menac- 
ing as her tone. Hold your tongue! hold your tongue, 
I say, miss!” 

1 shan’t hold my tongue,” responded Jemima, strug- 
gling between anger and tears. will have my boots! 
I want to go out, I do! and how can I go barefoot?” 

‘‘IVant to go out, do you?” j-avcd Mrs. Dunn, ^^fl’hat 
you may go after your fine sister, Mary Ann? The 
boots bo at Cox's and you may go there and get ’em. 
There!” 

The words altogether were calculated to increase the 
ire of Jemima; and they did so in no measured degree. 
She and her mother went into a mutual contest of abuse, 
which would have come to blows but for the father's 
breaking out into a storm of rage, tliat almost seemed as 
if trouble had upset his brain. 

Hunger, when it is long continued, will transform men 
and women into demons. In the house of the Dunns not 
only hunger, but rniserv of all sorts reigned; fear of a 
prison was now added, Dunn having been sued and con- 
victed in the small debts’ court. After his outburst of 
rage, Dunn sat down on the bench again with a powerful 


188 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


threat, meant to enforce submission. Mrs. Dunn stood 
against the bare wooden shelves of the dresser, her hair 
on end, her face scarlet, her voice loud enough in its 
shrieking sobs to raise the roof, could noise have raised 
it. 

It was interrupted by the entrance of Mary Ann Dunn. 
She had heard the noise in passing, and came Hying in to 
ascertain its cause; not indeed that noise and quarrels 
were unusual occurrences at the paternal home. Mary 
Ann had been out a great deal of late, and this had given 
otfense to her mother, who had made it an open griev- 
ance and reproached iier husband for allowing it. In 
Mrs. Dunn’s frame of mind she might have made the 
stopping in of Miiry Ann an equal grievance. 

“Now, miss! what do 3^11 want?” shrieked she before 
Mary Ann had time to speak. 

“ Is there anything the matter more than usual?’^ 
asked Mary Ann. “ Father, what is it?’^ 

Jackyset up a roar. Children are curious little creat- 
ures; and though^ the boy had heard, apparently unmoved, 
the news of his father’s being in dread of arrest, he burst 
forth with grief now. 

“ Father’s a-going to be took to prison!” he sobbed. 

“ To be took to prison!” uttered Mary Ann, aghast, 
and turning pale as she looked at her father for confirma- 
tion. 

“ It’s true,” said James Dunn, sullenly. “ And I don’t 
much care how soon I be there. Anything for a bit of 
peace and quiet — which I can’t get at home.” 

Mary Ann Dunn burst into tears. To workmen and 
their families, who have lived in tolerable comfort and 
respectability, earning a good living, the sound of the 
word prison brings a sickening terror with it. She laid 
down a piece of gold close to his hand. It was a half- 
sovereign. 

“ Take it, father; take it. It’s not much, but it may 
do you some gobd.” 

For answer, James Dunn took the money, and hurled 
it against the door, with a significantly bitter word of re- 
proach to Mary Ann. 

She caught it up, the tears streaming from her eyes. 
“ Oh, father, how can you say such things?” she uttered. 
“ The money was honestly given to me.” 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


189 


IVs a lie/’ said James Dunn. Who’d be likely to 
give you money?” 

*‘lt was indeed given to me,” she reiterated, her voice 
choked with sobs. No, mother, I cannot let you have 
it,” she broke off, for Mrs. Dunn’s hand was stealing it- 
self surreptitiously toward the gold. “ Father must have 
it, not you.” 

]\Irs. Dunn’s mood was not improved by the denial and 
disappointment. She broke out intemperately and un- 
justifiably, her voice risen to a shriek. 

Oh, of course not! / mustn’t touch her ill-gotten 
gains! Father, as ^yon’t work, may; mother, as is starv- 
ing, mayn’t. Look at her! the ill-conditioned, bad- 
turned-out girl! a-coming here with ” 

^^I’m not a bad-tnrned-out girl!” interrupted Mary 
Ann, her grief merging into anger. '^How dare you say 
it, mother?” 

How dare I say it? And her coming home with her 
gold! It was you drove her on to it, it was!” added Mrs. 
Dunn, turning fiercely on her husband. You and 
your idleness, and your empty pockets! When you have 
brought us all to the workhouse and the streets and the 
dung-hill, then you’ll turn round and try your Trades’ 
Unions! As to you, miss ” 

Mary Ann did not wait to hear what more was coming 
for her share. She flew out of the house. 

Then Mrs. Dunn turned again to her husband. Was 
he a man that he should bring ’em to this state of starva- 
tion, and then turn round upon ’em with blows? Wasn’t 
she his wife? wasn’t they his children? If 5/^0 was a hus- 
band and father, she’d rather break stone, till her arms 
rotted off, but what she’d fiiul ’em food! A lazy, idle, 
drunken object! There was the master’s yards open, and 
why didn’t he go to work? If a man cared for his own, 
he’d look to his interest, and sot tlfe Trades’ Unions at 
defiance. Was he a-going to see ’em took off to the work- 
house? When his young ones lay dead, and sho was in 
the poorhouse, then he’d fold his hands and be content 
with his work. If the strike was to bring ’em all this 
misery, what business had he to join it? Couldn’t ho 
have seen better? Let him go to work, if he was a man, 
and bring home a few coals, and a bit of bread, and a 


190 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


blanket or two from Cox^s, and her gowns and things, and 
Jemima’s boots ” 

Dimn, really a peaceably inclined man by nature, let 
it go on to this point. In the midst of Mrs. Dunn’s re- 
proaches, did she cast a recollection to the past? to her 
own eagerness, public and private, for the strike? How 
she had urged her husband on to join it, boasting of tlie 
good times it was to bring them? Eetider, if you think 
this an overdrawn picture, go and lay it before the wives 
of many of the suffering workmen, and ask them whether 
or not it is true. Ay, and it is only part of the truth. 

wish the strike had been buried five fathoms deep, 
I do!” uttered Dunn, with a catching up of the breath 
that told of the emotion he strove to hide. It has been 
nothing but a curse to us, all along; and where is to be 
the ending?” 

‘‘Who brought home all this misery, but you?” said 
Mrs. Dunn again. “ Have you done a day’s work for weeks 
and months? No, you haven’t. You have just rosved 
in the same boat with them nasty lazy Unionists, and let 
the work go a begging.” 

“ AVho edged me on to Join the Unionists? who re- 
proached me with being no man, but a sneak, if I went 
to work and knuckled down to the masters?” spluttered 
Dunn, in his vexation. ‘‘It was you; you know it was 
you! You were fire hot for the strike: worse than ever 
the men were.” 

“Can we starve?” choked Mrs. Dunn. “Can we 
drop down into our coffins with famine? Be our children 
to be drove ” 

Another interruption. Who should come bursting in 
but Mrs. Cheek? She had a tongue also, upon occa- 
sions. 

“ What has ever been going on here this last half 
hour? One would think murder was being committed. 
There’s a dozen Ifsteners collected outsicie your shut- 
ters.” 

“ She’s a casting it in my teeth now, for having joined 
the strike,” exclaimed Dunn, indicating his wife. “ She! 
And she was the foremost to' edge us all on.” 

“ Can one clam?” fiercely returned Mrs. Dunn. “Let 
him go to work.” 

“Don’t be a fool, Hannah Dunn,” said Mrs. Cheek. 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


191 


stand np for my riglits till I dropped; and so must 
the men. It^ll never do to bend to the will of the 
masters at last. There’s enough men turning tail and 
going back, without the rest doing of it. I should like 
to see Cheek attempting it; I’d bo on to him.” 

Clieek don’t want to; he have got no cause to,” said 
Mrs. Dunn. You get the living now, and find him in 
beer and ’bacoa.” 

‘‘Ido; and I’m proud on it,” was Mrs. Cheek’s an- 
swer. “I goes washing, I goes charing; nothing comes 
amiss to me, and I manages to keep the wolf from 
the door. It isn’t my husband that shall bend to the 
roasters. He shall stand up with the Unionists for his 
rights, or he shall stand up against me.” 

She w'ent out as she spoke, abruptly and quickly as she 
entered; for Mrs. Cheek had been bent on some hasty er- 
rand when arrested by the noise behind the shutters. 
Another miiiute and Mary Ann Dunn came in with Mrs. 
Quale. The hitter pointed to the piece of gold, still in 
Mary Ann’s hand, and spoke with short ceremony; 

“ It was me give it her. Now, Jim Duiin, what have you 
got to say again it?” 

“ What did you give it her for?” asked Jim Dunn in 
surprise, his tone slightly modified, while Mrs. Dunn 
opened lier eyes pretty wide. 

“ 1 give it her because I chose to give it her. There. 
Mary Ann has been a good bit at my place of late — and 
who’s to wonder at it, with the home she’s got here? and 
at last I have persuaded her into taking a service, and I’ve 
found one for her, and she goes to it to-monow, and I 
gave her that money to get a few of her clothes out’ of 
Cox’s. There!” 

“ Is it true?” gasped Dunn. 

“True!” echoed Mrs. Quale. “If you were only half 
as true, Jim Dunn, you’d do. Because you have turned 
out a idle man yourself, did you think 3 mur children was 
a-going to turn out bad on their own score? You ought 
to be ashamed of yourself, Jim Dunn! And as to you, 
Hannah Dunn, you bo worse than him. Tl:e girl’sa bet- 
ter daughter than you deserve; and she’s going to turn to 
with a will, and take her share of work.” 

Mary Ann, crying still, offered the money to her 
father. He pushed it back to her, speaking softly. 


192 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


girl, it’ll do yon more good than me. Do as 
]\rrs. Quale bids you. If you can get into a place, it’ll be 
the best news 1 sliall have lieard for many a day.” 

But if it keeps you from jail, father?” she sobbed. 

It wouldn’t do that; nor half doit; nor a quarter. 
Get 'your clothes out, and, if you can, get a place of 
service. Better for me that I was in jail than out of it,” 
he repeated. “ In there one does get fed.” 

“ Come along, Mary Ann,’’ said Mrs. Quale. '^I told 
you I’d give you a lodging in my house to-night, and I 
will. You go qn down to Cox’s and come straight back, 
and we’ll see the best we can do with the things. Good- 
night to you all, and pleasant dreams — if jou can get 
’em. You Unionists have brought your pigs to a pretty 
market!” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Things werp coming to a crisis. The men had done 
their best to hold out against the masters; but they found 
the effort was untenable — that they must give in at last. 
The prospect of returning to work was eagerly welcomed 
by the greater portion of the men. Rather than liold out 
longer, they would have gone back upon almost any 
terms. Why, then, not have gone back before? may be 
asked. Because they preferred to resume work with 
the consent of the Union, rather than without it. A 
few were bitterly enraged at the turn affairs were taking 
— of whom Sam Shuck was chief. With the return of 
the hands to work, Sam saw no field for the exercise of 
his own peculiar talents, unless it was in stirring up fresh 
discontent for the future. However, it was not yet finally 
arranged that work should be resumed: a little more agi- 
tation might be pleasant first. 

It’s a few white-livered hounds among yourselves 
that have spoilt it all!” growled Sam to a knot of hith- 
erto stanch friends, a day or two subsequent to that con- 
jugal dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Dunn, which you 
had the gratification of assisting at in the last chapter. 
“ When such men as White, and Baxendale, and Darby, 
who have held some sway among you, turn sneaks, and 
go over to the nobs, it’s only to be expected that you’ll 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


198 


turn sneaks and follow. One fool makes many. Did 
you hear how Darby got out his tools?^^ 

The men opposed to the Union, opposed to us, heard 
of his wanting them, and they clubbed together and made 
up the tin, and Darby is to pay ’em back at so much a 
week — two shillings, I think it is. Before I’d lie under 
obligations to the non- Unionist men I’d shoot myself. 
What good has the struggle done you?” 

“ None,” said a voice. ‘‘ It have done a good deal of 
harm.” 

‘‘Ay, it has — if it is to die out in this ignoble way,” 
said Sam. “ Better have been slaving like dray-horses 
all along, than break down in the effort to escape the 
slavery, and hug it to your arms again. Jf you had only 
half the spirit of men, you’d stop. White’s work for awhile, 
and Darby’s too, as you did Baxendale’s. Have you been 
thinking over what was said last night?” 

The men nodded. One of them expressed an opinion 
that it was a “dangerous game.” 

“That depends u[)on how it’s done,” said Shuck. 
“Who has been the worse, pray, for the pitching into 
Baxendaie? Can he or anybody else point a finger and 
say, ‘ It was you did it?’ or ‘ It was you?’ They cannot.” 

“One might not come off again with the like luck.” 

“Psha!” returned Sam. “ Well, let the traitors alone, 
to go their own way in triumph if you like; get up a 
piece of plate for them, with their names wrote on it in 
gold. It sickens one to see you true fellows going over to 
the oppressionists.” 

“How do you make out that White and them be op- 
pressionists?” 

“ White and them? They are worse than oppression- 
ists, a thousand times over,” fiercely cried Sam. “I 
can’t find words bad enough for them. It isn’t of them 
I spoke; I spoke of the masters.” 

“ Well, Sliuck, there’s oppression on all sides, I think,” 
exclaimed one of the men. “I'd be glad to rise in the 
world if I could, and I’d work over-hours to help mo on 
to it and to educate my children a bit better than com- 
mon; but if you come down upon me and say, ‘ You shall 
not (lo it, you shall only woric the stated hours laid down, 
and nobody shall work more?”^ I call that oppression.” 


194 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


it is/^ assented another voice. ^'The masters 
never oppressed ns like that. There’s one question I’d 
like to have answered — but I’m afeard it never will bo 
answered, with satisfaction to us. What is to become 
of those men that the masters can’t find employment 
for? If eveiy one of us was free to go back to work to- 
morrow, and sought to do so, where would we get it? 
Our old shops would be half filled with strangers, and 
there’d be thousands of us rejected — no room for us. 
Would the society keep us?” 

A sornewliat difficult question to answer, even for Slip- 
pery Sam. Perhaps for that reason he suddenly called 
out Hush!” and bent his head and put up his finger in 
the attitude of listening. 

“ There is something unusual going on in the street,” 
cried he. Let’s see what it is.” 

Tliey hurried out to the street, Sam leading the way. 
Not a genial street to look upon that wintery day, taking 
it with all its accessories. Half-clothed, half-starved, 
emaciated men stood about in groups, their pale features 
and gloomy expression of despair telling a piteous tale. 
A different set of men entirely, to look at, from those of 
the well-to-do Rollicking old days of work, contentment 
and freedom from care. 

Being marshaled down the street in as polite a manner 
as was consistent with the occasion, was Mr. James Dunn. 
He was on his road to prison; and certain choice spirits 
of Daffodil’s Delight, headed by Mrs. Dunn, were in at- 
tendance, hooting and yelling at. the capturers. As if 
this was not enough cause of disturbance, news arose that 
the Dunn landlord, finding the house temporarily uban- 
doned by, every soul — a chance he had been looking for — 
, improved the opportunity to lock the street door jind 
‘keep them out. Nothing was before Mrs. Dunn and her 
children now but the parish Union. 

** I don’t care whether it is the masters that have been 
in fault, or whether it’s us; I know which side gets the 
suffering,” exclaimed a mechanic, as IMr. Dunn was con- 
veyed beyond view. “ Old Abel White told us true; 
strikes never brought nothing but misery yet, and they 
never will.” 

Sam Shuck seized upon the occasion to draw around 
him a select audience, and to hold forth to them. Trea* 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


195 


son, false a^id pernicious tliongh it was, that he spoke, 
his oratory fell persuasively on the ears. He excited the 
men against the masters; he excited them to his utmost 
power against the men who liad gone back to work; he 
inflamed their passions, he perverted their reason. Alto- 
gether, ill-feeling and excitement were smoldering in 
an unusual degree in Daffodil^s Delight, and it was kept 
up through the live-long day. 

Evening came. The bell rang for the cessation of 
work at Mr. Hunter’s, and the men came pouring forth. 
The gas lamp at the gate shed a brilliant light, and the 
hands dispei'sed — some one way, some another. Those 
bearing toward Daffodil’s Delight became aware, as they 
approached an obscure portion of the road, which lay 
past a dead wall, that it bore an unusual appearance, as 
if dark forms were hovering there. What could it be? 

Not for long were they kept in ignorance. There 
arose a terrific din, enough to startle the unwary. Yells, 
groans, hootings, liisses, threats, were poured forth upon 
the workmen; and they knew that they had fallen into 
ail ambush of the society’s men. 

Of women also, as it appeared. For shrill notes and 
delicate words of abuse, certainly only peculiar to ladies’ 
throats, were pretty freely mingled with the gruff tones 
of the men. 

‘‘You be nice nine-hour chaps! Come on! if you’re 
not cowards, and have it out in a fair fight ” 

“A fair fight!” shrieked a female voice in interrup- 
tion, “ who’d fight with them? Traitors! cowards! 
Knock ’em down and trample upon ’em!” 

“ Harness ’em together with cords, and drag ’em along 
like beasts o’ burden in the face and eyes of London. 
Slick ’em up on spikes! Hoist ’em on to the lamp-posts. 
Hold ’em hend down’ard in a horse trough! Pitch into 
’em with quicklime and rotten eggs! Strip ’em and 
give ’em a coat o’ tar! Wring their necks and have done 
with ’em!” 

While these several complimentary suggestions were 
thrown fi’om as many different quarters of the assailants, 
one of them had quietly laid hold of Abel White. There 
was little doubt — according to what came out afterward — 
that he ajid Eobert Darby were the two men chiefly 
aimed at in this night assault. Darby, however, was not 


1 % 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


tliere. As it happened, he had turned the contrary way 
on leaving tlieyard, having joined one of tlie men who 
had lent liirn some of the money to get his tools out of 
pledge, and gone toward his home with him. 

“If thee carest for tliy life, theedl stop in-doors, and 
not go a-nigh Hunter’s yard again to work!” 

Such were the woicls hissed forth in a hoarse whisper 
into the ear of Abel White, by the man who had seized 
upon him. Abel peered at him as keenly as the darkness 
would permit. White was no coward, and although aware 
that this attjick most probably had him for its chief butt, 
he retained his composure. He could not recognize the 
man — a tall man, in a large, loose, blue frock, such as is 
sometimes worn by butchers, with a red, woolen cravat 
wound roughly round his throat, hiding his chin and 
mouth, and a seal- skin cap, its dark “ears” brought 
down on the sides of the face, and tied under the chin. 
The man may have been so wrapped up for protection 
against the weather, or for the purpose of disguise. 

“Let me go!” said White. 

“When thee hast sworn not to go on working till the 
Union gives leave.” 

“ I never will swear it, or say it.” 

“ Then thee shall get every bone in tlT body smashed. 
Thees’t been reported to Mr. Shuck, and to the Union.” 

“Pd like to know your name and who you are,” ex- 
claimed White. “ If you are not disguising your voice, 
it’s odd to me.” 

“i)’ye remember Baxendale? -He wouldn’t take the 
oath, and he’s lying with his ribs stove in.” 

“■ More shame for you! Look you. man, you can’t in- 
timidate. I am made of sterner stuff than that.” 

“ Swear!” was the menacing retort; “ swear that thee 
won’t touch another stroke o’ work.” 

“ I tell you that I never will swear it,” angrily and 
firmly returned White. “The Union has hoodwinked 
me long enough; I’ll have nothing to do with it.” 

“There be desperate men round ye — them as won’t 
leave ye with whole bones. You shall swear!” 

“ I’ll have nothing more to do with the Union; I’ll 
never again obey it,” answered White, speaking ear- 
nestly. 

“ There! make your most of it. If I had but a friendly 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


197 


gleam of light here, Fd know who you are, and let others 
know.’' 

The confusion around had increased. Hot words were 
passing everywhere between the assailants and the nssailed 
— no positive assault, as yet, save that a woman had 
shaken her fist in a man's face and spit at him. Abel 
White strove to get away with the last words, but the 
man who had been threatening him struck him a sharp 
blow between the eyes, which caused the sparks to fly. 

Another instant and he was down. If one blow was 
dealt him, ten were, from as many dilferent bauds. The 
tall man with the cap was busy with his feet; and it 
really seemed, by the manner he went into the pastime, 
that his whole heart went with it, and that it was a heart 
of revenge. 

But who is this, pushing his way through the crowd 
with stern authority? A policeman? The men shrank 
back, in their fear, to give him place. No; it is only 
their master, Mr. Clay. 

“ What is this?" exclaimed Austin, when he reached 
the point of battery. “Is it you, White?" he added, 
stooping down. “ I suspected as much. Now, my men," 
he continued, in a stern tone, as he faced the excited 
throng, “who are you? which of you has done this?" 

“The ringleader was him in the cap, sir — the tall one 
with the red cloth round his neck, and the fur about his 
ears," spoke up White, who, though much maltreated, 
retained the use of his brains and his tongue. “ It was 
him that threatened me, and was the first to set upon 
me." 

“ Who are you?" demanded Austin of the tall man. 

The tall man responded by a quiet laugh of derision. 
He felt himself perfectly secure from recognition in the 
dark obscurity; and though Mr. Clay was of powerful 
frame, more chan a match for him in agility and strength; 
let him only dare to lay a finger upon him, and there were 
plenty around to come to the rescue. 

Austin Clay heard the derisive laugh, subdued though 
it was. He took his hand from within the breast of his 
coat, and raised it with a hasty motion — not to deal a 
blow, not with a pistol to startle or menace, but with a 
dark lantern! 

No pistol could have startled them as did that sudden 


198 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


flash of bright light, thrown full, as it was, upon tho tall 
man’s face. Olf flew tho man with a yell, and Austin 
coolly turned the lantern upon otliers. 

‘‘ Bennett — and Strood — and Ttyan — and Cassidy!” he 
exclaimed, recognizing and telling ofl the men. ^‘And 
Cheek! I never should have suspected yon of suf- 
ficient courage to join in a thing of this nature.” 

Cheek, midway between shaking and tears, sobbed out 
that it was tho wife made him;” and Mrs. Cheek roared 
out from the rear: Yes, it was, and she’d have shook 
the bones out of him if he hadn’t come.” 

But that light turning upon them everywhere, was 
more than they had bargained for, and the whole lot 
moved away in the best manner that they could, putting 
the stealthiest and the quickest foot foremost; each one 
devoutly hoping, save tho few whoso names had been 
mentioned, that his own face had not been recognized. 

Austin, with some of his workmen who had remained 
— the greater portion of them were pursuing the van- 
quished — raised Abel White. His head was cut, his 
body biliised, but no serious damage appeared to have 
been done. Can you walk, with assistance, as far as 
Mr. Rice’s shop?” asked Austin. 

dare say I can, sir, in a minute; I’m a bit giddy 
now,” was White’s reply, as he leaned his back against 
the wall, being supported on either side. “ Sir, what a 
mercy that you had that light with you!” 

‘‘Ay,” sliortly replied Austin. “Quale, there’s the 
blood dripping upon your sleeve. I will hind my hand- 
kerchief round your head. White. Meanwhile, one of 
you go and call a cab; it may be better that we get him 
at once to the surgeon’s.” 

A cab was brought, and White assisted into it. Austin 
accompanied him. Mr. Rice was at home, and proceeded 
to examine into the damage. A few days rest from 
work, and a liberal application of sticking-plaster, would 
prove efficacious in effecting a cure, he believed. “ What 
a pity but the ruffians could be stopped at this game,” 
the doctor exclaimed to Austin. “It will come to at- 
tacks more serious, if they are not.” 

“ I think this will do something toward stopping it,” 
replied Austin. 

“ Why? Do you know of any of them?” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 199 

Austin nodded. ^'Afew. It is not a second case of 
impossible identity, as was Baxendale’s.” 

y I am sure I don’t know liow I am to go home in this 
plight,” exclaimed White, catching sight of his strapped- 
up face and head, in a small looking-glass hanging in 
Mr. Rice’s sui’gery. I shall frighten poor old father 
into a fit, and the wife, too.” 

“ I will go on first and prepare them,” said Austin, 
good-naturedly. 

Turning out of the shop on his errand, he found the 
door blocked up. The door! nay, the pavement — the 
street; for it seemed as if all Daffodil’s Delight had col- 
lected there. He elbowed his way through them, and 
reached White’s homo. There the news had preceded 
him, and he found the deepest distress and excitement 
reigning, the family having been informed that Abel was 
killed. Austin reassured them, made light of the mat- 
ter, and departed. 

Outside their closed-up home, squatting on the narrow 
strip of pavement, their backs against the dirty wall, 
were Mrs. Dunn and her children, howling pitiably. 
They were surrounded with warm partisans, who spent 
their breath sympathizing with them, and abusing the 
landlord. 

‘‘ How much better that they should go into the work- 
house,” exclaimed Austin. They will perish with cold 
if they remain there.” 

‘‘And much you masters ’ud care,” cried a woman, 
W'ho overheard the remark. “I hope you are satisfied 
now with the effects of your fine lockout! Look at the 
poor cieatur’ a-sitting there with her helpless children.” 

“A sad sight,” observed Austin, “but not the effects 
of the lockout. You must look nearer home.” 

To the intense edification of Daffodil’s Delight, which 
had woke up in an unusually low and subdued state, there 
arrived, the following mid-day, certain officers within its 
precincts, holding warrants for the apprehension of some 
of the previous night’s rioters. Bennett, Strood, Ryan, 
and Cheek were taken; Cassidy had disappeared. 

“It’s a shame to grab us!” exclaimed timid Cheek, 
shaking from head to foot. “ AVhite himself said as we 
were not the ringleaders.” 

While these were secured, a policeman entered the 


200 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


home of Mr. Slinck, without so much as saying, with 
your leave, or by your leave. That gentleman, who had 
remained in-doors all tlie morning, in a restless, liumble 
sort of mood, which imparted much surprise to Mrs. 
Shack, was just sitting down to dinner in the bosom of 
his family; a savory dinner, to judge by the smell, con- 
sisting of rabbit and onions. 

^'Now, Sam Shuck, I want you,'^ was the startling in- 
terruption. 

Sam turned as white as a sheet. Mrs. Shuck stared, 
and the children stared. 

Want me, do you?^’ cried Sam, putting as easy a face 
as he could upon the matter. What do you want me 
for? To give evidence?” 

You know. It^s about that row last night. I won- 
der you hadnT better regard for your liberty than to get 
into it.’^ 

Why, you never was such a fool as to put yourself 
into that!” exclaimed Mrs. Shuck, in her surprise. 

What could have possessed you?” 

I!” j-etorted Sam; I don’t know anything about the 
row, except what I’ve heard. 1 was a good mile off from 
the spot when it took place.” 

All very well if you can convince the magistrates of 
that,” siiid the officer. llere^s the warrant against you, 
and I must take you on it.” 

‘"I won’t go,” said Sam, showing fight; wasn’t nigh 
the place, I say.” 

The officer was peremptory — officers generally are in 
these cases — and Sam was very foolish to resist. But that 
he was scared out of his senses, he would probably not 
have resisted. It only made matters worse; and the re- 
sult was, that he had the handcuffs clapped on. Fancy 
Samuel Shuck, Esquire, in his crimson necktie with the 
lace ends, and the peg-tops, being thus escorted through 
Daffodil’s Delight, himself and his hands prisoners, and 
a tail the length of the street streaming after him. 

You could not have got into the police-court. Every 
avenue, every inch of ground was occupied; for the men, 
both Unionists and non-Unionists, were greatly excited, 
and sought to hear the proceedings. 

The five men were placed at the bar — Shuck, Bennett, 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


201 


Cheek, Ryan, and Strood; and Abel White and his ban- 
daged head appeared against them. 

Tlie man gave his evidence. How he and others — but 
himself, he thought, more particularly — had been met 
by a crowd the previous night, upon leaving work; how 
the crowd had first threatened and then beaten him. 

Call you tell what their motive was for doing this?” 
asked the magistrate. 

Yes, sir. It was because I went hack to work. I 
held out as long as I could, in obedience to the Trades* 
Union; but I began to think I was in error, and that I 
ought to return to work, which I did, a week ago. Since 
then, they have never let me alone. They have talked to 
me, and threatened and persuaded me; but I would not 
listen; and last night they attacked me.” 

‘MVhat were the threats they used last night?” 

^‘ it was one man did most of the talking; a tall man 
in a cap and comforter, sir. The rest of the crowd abused 
me and called me names, but they did not utter any par- 
ticular threat. This man said, would I promise and 
swear not to do any more work, in defiance of the Union; 
or else I should get every bone in my body smashed. He 
told me to remember how Baxendale had been served, 
and was lying with his ribs stove in. I refused; I said I 
would never belong to the Union again; and then he 
struck me.” 

Where did he strike yon?” 

^^Here,” putting his hand up to his forehead. ^^The 
first blow staggered me, and took away my sight, and 
the second blow knocked me down. Half a dozen set 
upon me then hitting and kicking me; the first kicked 
me also.” 

** Can you swear to the first man?” 

‘^No, I can*t, sir. I think he was disguised.” 

Was it the prisoner, Shuck?” 

White shook his head. ‘Mt was just his height and 
figure, sir, but 1 can*t be sure that it was him. His face 
was partially covered and it was nearly dark, besides; 
there are no lights about, just there. The voice, too, 
seemed disguised; I said so at the time.” 

‘‘Can you swear to the others?” 

“Yes, to all four of them,” said White, stoutly. 
“They were not disguised at all, and I saw them after 


20 % 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


the light came, and knew their voices. They helped to 
beat me after I was on the ground/' 

“Did tliey threaten you?" 

“No, sir. Only the first one did that." 

“And him you cannot swear to? Is there any other 
witness who can swear to liim?" 

It did not appear that there was. Shuck addressed the 
magistrate, his tone one of injured innocence: 

“It is not to be borne that 1 should be dragged up here . 
like a felon, your woi’ship. I was not near the place at 
the time; I am as innocent as yonr worship is. It is not 
likely I should lend myself to such a thing; my mission 
among the men is of a higher nature than that." 

“ Whether you are innocent or not, I do not know," 
said his worship; “ but I do know this is a state of things 
which cannot be tolerated. I will give my utmost pro- 
tection to these workmen; and those who dare to inter- 
fere with them shall be punished to the extent of the 
law; the ringleaders especially. A person has just as 
mucii right to come to me and say, ^ You shall not sit on 
that bench; you shall not transact the business of a mag- 
istrate,' as you have to pi-event those industrious men 
working to earn a living. It is monstrous." 

“ Here's the witness we have waited for, please, your 
worship," spoke one of the policemen. 

It was Austin Clay who came forward. Ho bowed to 
the magistrate, who bowed to him; they occasionally met 
at the house of Mr. Hunter. Austin was sworn, and 
gave his evidence up to the point when he turned the 
light of the lantern upon the tall assailant of White. 

“ Dill you recognize the man?" asked the bench. 

“I did. It was Samuel Shuck." 

Sam gave a howl, protesting that it was not — that he 
was a mile away from the spot. 

“I recognized him as perfectly as I recognize him at 
this moment, said Austin. “He had a woolen scarf on 
his chin, and a cap covering his ears, no doubt assumed 
for disguise, but 1 knew him instantly. "What is more, 
he saw that I knew him; I am sure he did, by the way 
he slunk off." 

“Did you take the lantern with you purposely?" asked 
the clerk of the court. 

“ 1 did," replied Austin, “ A hint was given me, in 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


208 


the course of yesterday afternoon, that an attack upon 
our men was in agitation. I determined to discover the 
ringleaders, if possible, did it take place, and not to let 
the darkness baffle Justice, as was the case in the attack 
upon Baxendale. For this purpose I puc the lantern iti 
readiness, and had the men watched when they left the 
yard. As soon as the assault began, my messenger 
returned to tell me.” 

“ You hit upon a good plan, Mr. Clay.” 

Austin smiled. “I think I did,” ho answered. 

The proceedings were pretty long, but they terminated 
at lengtli. Bennett, Strood, and Kyan were condemned 
to pay a fine of £5 each, or be imprisoned for two rnontlis. 
Cheek managed to get off. Mr. Sam Shuck, to whom 
the magistrate was bitterly severe in his remarks — for ho 
knew perfectly well the part enacted by the man fi-om 
the first — was sentenced to six months at the treadmill, 
without the option of a fine. 

What descent for Slippery Sam! 


CHAPTER XIX. 

These violent interruptions to the social routine, to 
the organized relations between masters and men, cannot 
take p'ace without leaving their effects behind them; not 
only of the bare cupboards, the confusion, the bitter feel- 
ing while the contest is in actual progress, but of the re- 
sults when the dispute is brought to an end and things 
have resumed their natural order. You Ijave seen somo 
of its disastrous working upon ihe men, you cannot see 
it all, for it would take a whole volume to depicture ic. 
But there was another upon whom it was promising to 
work badly; and that was Mr. Hunter. At this, the 
eleventh hour, when the dispute was dying out, Mr. 
Hunter knew that he was unable to weather the short re- 
mains of the storm. 

Drained, as he had been at various periods, of sums 
paid to Gwinn, of Ketterford, he had not the means 
necessary to support the long-continued struggle. Cap- 
ital he possessed still; and, had tliero been no disturb- 
ance, no strike, no lockout — had things, in short, gone 
on upon their usual course uninterruptedly, his capital 
would have been sufficient; not as it was. His money 


204 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


was locked up in arrested works, in buildings brought to 
a sratKlstill. He could not fiiltill his contracts, or meet 
liis debts; rnaterinls were l}dng idle; and the crisis, so 
long expected by him, had come. 

It had not been expected by Austin Olay. Though 
aware of the shortness of capital, he believed that, with 
care, difficulties would be surmounted. The fact wjis, 
Mr. Hunter had succeeded in keeping the worst from 
him. It fell now upon Austin like a tliunderbolt, 

Mr. Hunter had come early to the works: in this hour 
of embarrassment — ill as he might be, as he was — ho 
could not be absent from his place of business. When 
Austin went into his private room he found him alone, 
poring over books and accounts, his head leaning on his 
hand. One glance at Austin’s face told Mr. Hunter 
that the whispers as to the state of affairs, which were 
now becoming public scandal, had reached his ears. 

Yes, it is perfectly true,” said Mr. Hunter, before a 
word had been spoken by Austin. ‘^1 cannot stave it 
off.” 

Buf it will be ruin, sir!” exclaimed Austin. 

“ Of course it will bo ruin. I know that better than 
you can tell me.” 

“Oh, sir,” continued Austin, in agitation, “it must 
not be allowed to come. Your credit must be kept up 
at any sacrifice.” 

“Canyon tell me of anysacrifice that will keep it up?” 
returnetl Mr. Hunter. 

Austin paused in embarrassment. “If the present 
difficulty can be got over, the future will soon redeem 
itstdf,” he observed. “ You have sufficient capital in the 
aggregate, though it is at present locked up.” 

“There it is,’’ said Mr. Hunter; “were the capital not 
locked up, but in my hands, I should be a free man; who 
is to unlock it?” 

“The men are returning to their shops,” urged Aus- 
tin. “In a few days, at the most, all will have resumed 
work; we should get our contracts completed, and things 
would work round. It would be needless ruin, sir, to stop 
now.” 

“Am I stopping of my own accord? Shall I put my- 
self into the Gazette, do you suppose? You talk like a 
child. Clay.” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


205 


Not altogether, sir; what I say is, that yon are worth 
more than sufficient to meet your debts; that, if the mo- 
mentary pressure can be lifted, you will surmount em- 
bari-assment and regain ease/' 

“ Half the bankruptcies we hear of are caused by 
locked-up capital — not by positive absence of it," ob- 
served Mr. Hunter; ‘‘ were my funds available, there 
would bo reason in what you say, and I should piobjibly 
go on again to ease. Indeed, I know I should; for a cer- 
tain heavy — heavy " Mr. Hunter spoke with a per- 
plexed liesitation — A heavy private obligation, which 
1 have been paying off at j)eriods, is at an end now." 

Austin made no re|)ly. lie knew that Mr. Hunter al- 
luded to Gwinn of Ketterford; and perhaps Mr. Hunter 
suspected that he knew it. 

Yes, sir; you wdll go on to ease— to fortune again; 
there is no doubt of it. Mr. Hunter," he continued, “ it 
must be accomplished somehow. To let things come to 
an end for the sake of a thousand or two is — is " 

“Stop," said Mr. Hunter. “ I see what yon are driv- 
ing at. You tliink that I might borrow this ‘ thousand or 
two' from my brother, or from Dr. Bevary." 

“ No," fearlessly replied Austin. “ 1 was not think- 
ing of either one or tlie other. Mr. Henry Hunter lias 
enough to do for himself just now — his contracts for the 
season were more extensive than ours; and Dr. Bevary is 
no business man." 

“Henry has enough to do," said Mr. Hunter. “ And 
if a hundred-pound note would save me. I should not 
ask Dr. Bevary for its loan. I tell you, Clay, there is no 
help for it; ruin must come. I have thought it over and 
over, and I can see no loophole of escape. It does not 
much matter; I can hide my head in obscurity for the 
sliort time I shall probably live. Mine has been an un- 
toward fate." 

“ It matters for your daughter, sir," rejoined Austin, 
his face flushing. 

“ 1 cannot help myself even for her sake," was the an- 
swer, and it was spoken in a tone that told of a breaking 
heart. 

“ If yon would allow me to suggest a plan, sir " 

“No, I will not allow any further discussion upon the 
topic," peremptorily interrupted Mr. Hunter. “ The 


m 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


blow must come: aud, to talk of it, will neither soothe 
nor avert it. Now to b'lsiness. Is it to-day or to-mor- 
row that Graftoii^s bill falls due?’’ 

‘‘To-djiy,” replied Austin. 

And its precise amount? I forget it.” 

“Five hundi’ed and twenty odd pounds.” 

“ Five hundred and twenty! I knew it was somewhere 
about that. It is that biil that will floor us— at least, be 
the first step to it. How closely has the account been 
drawn at the bank?” 

“ You have the book there, sir. I think there is little 
more than thirty pounds lying in it.” 

“Just so. Thirty pounds to meet a, bill of five hun- 
dred and twenty. No other available funds to pay in. 
And you would talk of staving off the difficulty!” 

“ I think the bank would pay it were all circumstances 
laid before them. They have accommodated us before.” 

“Tlie bank will not, Austin. I have had a private 
note from them this moiuiing. These flying rumors have 
reached their ears, and they will not let me overdraw 
even by a pound.” 

Tliere was a commotion as of sudden talkingf outside at 
that moment, and Mr. Hunter turned pale. He supposed 
it might be a creditor. “I would pay them all if I 
could,” he exclaimed, in a tone of wailing; “God knows 
how willingly.” 

“ Sir,”sai(l Austin, “ leave me here today to meet these 
matters. You are too ill to stay.” 

“ If I do not meet them to-day I must to-morrow. 
Sooner or later it is I who must answer.” 

“ But indeed you are ill, sir. You look worse than you 
have looked at all.” 

“ Can you wonder that I look worse? The striking of 
the docket against me will be the breaking of mv heart.” 

The talking outside now subsided into laughter, in 
which the tones of a female were distinguishable, and Mr. 
Hunter thought he recognized them. In fact, they were 
those of one of his women servants, who, unconscious of 
the proximity of her master, had been laughing and joking 
with some of the men, whom she had encountered upon 
entering the yard. 

“ What can Susan want?” exclaimed Mr. Hunter, sign- 
ing to Austin to open the door. 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


207 


that you, Susan?^’ Austin exclaimed, as lie obeyed. 

Oh, if you please, sir, can I speak a word to my mas- 
ter?” 

“Come in,” called out Mr. Hunter. ^MVhat do you 
want?” 

“ Miss Florence has sent me. sir, to give you this, and 
to ask you if youM please to come round.” 

She handed in a note. Mr. Hunter broke the seal and 
ran his eyes over it. It was from Florence, and con- 
tained but aline or two. She informed her father that 
the person who had been so troublesome at the house once 
or twice before, in years back, had come again, had taken 
a seat in the dining-room, removed her bonnet, and ex- 
pressed her intention of there remaining until she should 
see Mr. Hunter. 

“As if I had not enough upon me without this!” mut-* 
tered Mr. Hunter. “ Go back,” he said, aloud, to the 
servant, “ and tell Miss Florence that I am coming.” 

A few minutes given to tlie papers before him, a few 
hasty directions to Austin, touching the business of the 
hour, and Mr. Hunter rose to depart. 

“ Do not come back, sir,” Austin repeated to him. “I 
can manage all.” 

When Mr. Hunter entered his own house, letting him- 
self in with a latch-key, Florence, who had been watch- 
ing for him, glided forward. 

“ She is in there, papa,” pointing to the closed door of 
the dining-room and speaking in a whisper. “ What is 
her business here? what does she want? She told me she 
had as much right in the house as I.” 

“Ila!” exclaimed Mr. Hunter. “Insolent, has she 
been?” 

“ Not exactly insolent. She spoke civilly. I fancied 
you would not care to see her, so I said she could not 
wait. She replied that she should wait, and I must not 
attempt to prevent her. Is she in her senses, papa?” 

“Go iip-stairs and put your bonnet and cloak on, 
Florence,” was the rejoinder of Mr. Hunter. “Be 
quick.” 

She obeyed, and was down again almost immediately, 
in her deep mourning. 

“Now, my dear, go round to Dr. Bevary, and tell him 
you have come to spend the day with him.” 


208 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


papa ” 

‘‘Florence, go! I will either come for you this even- 
ing or send. Do not return until 1 do.^^ 

The tone, thougli full of kindness, was one that might 
not be disobeyed, and Florence, feeling sick witli some 
uncertain shadowed-forth trouble, passed out at the hall 
door. Mr. Hunter entered the dining-room. 

Tall, gaunt, powerful of frame as ever, rose up Miss 
Gwinn, turning upon him her white, corpse-like look- 
ing face. Without tlie ceremony of greeting, she spoke 
in her usual abrupt fashion, dashing at once to her sub- 
ject. 

Noiu will you render justice, Lewis^ Hunter?’^ 

“1 have the greater right to ask that justice shall be 
rendered to me,"’^ replied J^Ir. Hunter, speaking sternly, 
in spite of his agitation. “Which has most cause to de- 
manded it, you or 

“She who reigned in this house as mistress is dead,^^ 
cried Miss Gwinn. “ You must acknowledge Aer.” 

“I never will. You may do your best and worst. The 
worst that can come is, that it must reach the knowledge 
of my daughter. 

“ Ay, there it is! The knowledge of the wrong must 
not even reach her; but the wrong itself has not been 
too bad for that other one to bear.^^ 

“Woman!'’ continued Mr. Hunter, growing excited 
almost beyond control, “ who inflicted that wrong? — my- 
self, or you?" 

The reproach told home, if the change to sad humil- 
ity, passing over Miss Gwinn’s countenance, might be 
taken as an indication. “ What I said, I said in self-de- 
fense, after you, in your deceit, had brought wrong upon 
me and my family." 

“ That wjis no wrong," retorted Mr. Hunter. “It was 
you who wrought all the wrong afterward, by uttering 
that terrible falsehood." 

“ Well, well, it is of no use coming back to that. I 
am come here to ask that justice shall be rendered, now 
that it IS in your power." 

“ You have had more than justice — you have had re- 
venge. Not content with rendering my days a life's 
misery, you must also drain me of the money I had 
worked hard to save. Do you know how much?" 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


209 


It was not T/^ she passionately uttered, in a tone as 
if she would deprecate his anger. He did that.'’^ 

“ It comes to the same. I had to find the money. So 
long as my dear wife lived, I was forced to temporize: 
neither he nor you can so force me again. Go home, go 
borne, Miss Gwinn, and pray for forgiveness for the 
have done both her and me. The time for 
coming to my house with your intimidations is past.'" 

“What did you say?’" cried Miss Gwinn. “Injury 
upon youf^ 

“Injury, ah! such as rarely has been inflicted upon 
mortal man. Not content witli that great injury, you 
must also deprive me of my substance. This week the 
name of James Lewis Hunter will be in the GazettOy on 
the list of bankrupts. It is you who have brought me to 
it."" 

“You know that I have had no hand in that: that it 
was he; my brother — and herSy^' she said. “He never 
should have done it had I been able to prevent him; in 
an unguarded moment [ told him I had discovered you, 
and who you were, and he came up to you here and sold 
his silence. It is that which has kept me quiet."" 

“This interview had better end,"" said Mr. Hunter. 
“It excites me and my health is scarcely in a state to 
bear it. Your work has told upon me. Miss Gwinn, as 
you cannot avoid seeing, when you look at me. Am I 
like the hearty, open man whom you came up to town 
and discovered a few years ago?"" 

“Am I like the healthy, unsuspicious woman whom 
you saw some years before tiiat?*" she retorted. “My 
days have been rendered more bitter than yours."" 

“ It is your own evil passions which have rendered 
them so. But I say this interview must end. You ’" 

“It shall end when you undertake to render justice."" 

“ When your brother was here last — it was on the day 
of my wifc"s death — I was forced to warn him of the con- 
sequences of remaining in my house against my will. I 
must now warn you."" 

“ Lewis Hunter,"" she passionately resumed, “for years 
I have been told that she — who was here — was fading; 
and I was content to wait until she should be gone. Be- 
sides, was not he drawing money from you to keep si- 
lence? But it is all over, and my time is come."" 


310 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


The door of the room opened and some one entered. 
Mr. Hunter turned to it with marked displeasure; lie 
wondered who of the household was daring to intrude 
upon him. Not any servant; but Dr. Bevary. 

When Florence reached her uncle's she found him ab- 
sent; the servants said he had gone out early in the 
morning. Scarcely had Florence entered the drawing- 
room, when she saw his carriage drive up, and himself 
alight from it. He came in. and she told him her papa 
had dispatched her to be his guest for the day. But 
there was something in her manner, as she spoke, for- 
eign to its usual candid openness; the doctor detected it, 
and he drew from her what had occurred. 

'^Miss Gwinn of Ketterford in town!” he uttered. 
And then, leaving Florence, he ran down to the street, 
calling to his coachman, whose orders had been to put 
np the carriage. Had it been anybody but Dr. Bevury, 
the passers-by would have deemed the caller mad. The 
man heard, turned his horses, and came back. 

^‘Miss Gwinn is the very person I was wanting to see 
— wishing some miraculous telegraph could convey her 
hither at a moment's notice,” he said to Florence. 

Make yourself at home, iny dear. I must go out 
again, and it is uncertain when 1 shall return.” 

He stepped into the carriage, ordering it round to 
Mr. Hunter's. There he broke in upon the interview. 

^‘1 was about to telegraph to Ketterford for you,” he 
obseived, to Miss Gwinn. 

The words agitated her strangely, as with a shrinking 
fear. She caught hold of the doctor's arm. ‘‘ What has 
happened? Any ill?” 

You must come with me now and see her.” 

Shaking from head to foot, gaunt, strong woman 
though she was, she turned docilely to follow the doeior 
from the room. But, suddenly, an idea seemed to strike 
her, and she stood still. 

^'It is a ruse to get me out of the house. Dr. Bevar}^, 
I will not quit it until justice shall bei’endered to Emma. 
I will have her acknowledged by him.” 

‘‘Your going with me now will make no difference to 
that, one way or the other,” dryly observed Dr. Bevary. 

Mr. Hunter stepped forward in agitation. “Are you 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


211 


out of your mind, Bevary? You could not have caught 
her words correctly/^ 

Psha!’^ responded the doctor, in a careless tone. 

What 1 said was, that Miss GwiniPs going out with me 
could make no difference to it one way or the other.^' 

His bearing calm and self-possessed, his manner author- 
itative, Dr. Bevary passed out to his carriage, motioning 
tlie lady before him. Self-willed as she was by nature 
and by habit, she appeared to have no thought of resist- 
ance now. “ Step in,^" said Dr. Bevary. 

• She obeyed, and he seated himself by her, after giving 
an order to the coachman. The carriage turned toward 
the west for a short distance, and then branched off to the 
north. In a comparatively short time they were clear of 
the bustle of London. 

Miss Gwinn sat in silence; the doctor sat in silence. It 
seemed that the former wished, yet dreaded to ask, the 
purport of their present journey; for her white face was 
working with emotion, and she glanced repeatedly at the 
doctor, with a sharp, yearning look. AVhen they were 
clear of the bustle of the streets, and the hedges, bleak 
and bare, bound the road on either side, broken by a 
house here and there, then she could bear the silence and 
suspense no longer. 

“ Why do vou not speak broke from her in a tone of 
pain. 

‘‘First of all, tell me what brought you in town now.” 
was his reply. “ It is not your time for being here.” 

“The death of your sister. I came up by the early 
train this morning. Dr. Bevary, you are the only living 
being to whom I lie under an obligation, or from whom 
I have experienced kindness. People may think me un- 
grateful; some think me mad; but I am grateful to you. 
13ut for the fact of her being your sister, I should have 
insisted upon Emma^s rights being acknowledged long 
ago.” 

“You told me you waved them in consequence of 
your brother’s conduct.” 

“ Partially so. But that did not weigh with me in 
comparison with my feeling of gratitude to you. How 
impotent we are!” she exclaimed, throwing up her 
hands. “ My efforts by day, my dreams by night, were 
directed to one single point through long, long years of 


212 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


fever — the finding Lewis. I had sworn to be revenged; 
I had clierished the thoiiglit of revenge until it became 
part and parcel of rny very existence; I determined to 
expose him to the world. But when the time came, and 
1 did find him, I found that your sister was his wife, ;ind 
that revenge could not be taken upon him without touch- 
ing her. I hesitated; I took time to consider what 
course to pursue — whether to sacrifice gratitude or re- 
venge. I went home to deliberate, and there some spirit 
of evil put it into my head to acquaint my good-for-noth- 
ing bi-other that the man, Lewis, was found. 1 might 
have known what would follow. He hastened to town, 
and drew large sums of money out of Mr. Hunter’s fears, 
fi'hat decided me — to wait. Accounts said that your 
sister’s could not be a prolonged life; and I have waited 
until now.” 

“ Then you have come up — if I understand you aright 
— for the purpose of insisting upon wdiat you call her 
‘rigdits?’ Is it so?” 

W^mt / call!” retorted Miss Gwinn. "‘They are her 
rights: you know it. But tell me. Dr. Bevary, why are 
you taking me thither?” 

“1 received a message early this morning from Dr. 
Kerr, stating that — that something was amiss. 1 lost no 
time in going over.” 

“ And what was amiss?” she hastily cried. “ Surely 
there was no repetition of the violence? Did you see 
her?” 

“ Yes, I saw her.” 

“But of course you would,” resumed Miss Gwinn, 
speaking rather to herself. “And what do you think? 
Is there danger?” 

“ Th.e danger is past,” replied Dr. Bevary. “ But here 
we are.” 

The carriage had driven in tlirough an inclosed avenue, 
and was stopping before a large mansion; not a cheerful 
mansion, for its grounds were surrounded by dark trees, 
and some of its windows were barred. It was a lunatic 
asylum. It is necessary, even in these modern days of 
gentle treatment, to take some precaution of bars and 
bolts; but the inmates of this one were thoroughly well 
cared for, in the best sense of the term. Dr. Bevary was 
one of iis visiting inspectors. 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


213 


Dr. Kerr, the resident manager, came forward, and 
Dr. Bevury turned to Miss Gwinn. ‘‘Will you see lier, 
or not?’^ he asked. 

Strange fears were working within her. Dr. Bevary’s 
manner was so different from ordinary. “ I think 1 see 
it all,'’ she gasped. “ The worst has happened.'’ 

“ The best has happened," responded Dr. Bevarv. 

Miss Gwinn, you have I’equested me more than once to 
bring you here without preparation, should the time ar- 
rive — for that you could bear certainty, but not suspense. 
Will you see her?" 

Her face had grown white and rigid as marble. Un- 
able to speak, she pointed forward with her hand. Dr. 
Bevary drew it within his own to support her. 

In a clean, cool chamber, on a pallet bed, lay the 
corpse of a woman. Dr. Kerr gently drew back the 
snow-white sheet with which the face was covered — a 
pale placid, face, and a little band of light hair folded 
underneath the cap. 

She — Miss Gwinn — did not stir; she gave way to 
neitlier emotion nor violence; but her bloodless lips were 
strained back from her teeth, and her face was white as 
that of the dead. 

“ God’s ways are not as our ways," whispered Dr. 
Bevary. “ You have been acting for revenge; he has 
sent peace. Whatsoever he does is for the best." 

Slie made no reply; she remained still and rigid. Dr. 
Bevarv stroked the left hand of the dead, lying in its ut- 
ter stillness — stroked, as if unconsciously, the wedding 
ring on the third finger. He had long believed that it 
had been placed on that finger, years and years ago, by 
his brother-in-law, James Lewis Hunter. 

And she who had worked the lie, the delusion, who 
had imbittered Mr. Hunter’s life with the same dread be- 
lief, who had persisted in it, still, up to that hour, stood 
there at the doctor’s side, looking at the dead. 

Deader, it is a solemn thing to persist in the acting of 
a wicked falsehood, in the mysterious presence of death. 
The spirit has fled to where all truth must be brought to 
light; who is hardy enough not to bend under that sol- 
emn fact? 

Not even Miss Gwinn. As Dr. Bevary turned to her 
with a remark upon the past, she burst forth into a cry. 


214 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


and .^ave utterance to words that fell upon the physician^s 
ear like a healing balm, soothing and binding np a long 
open wound. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Those readers will be disappointed who look for any 
very romantic denouement of Life’s Secret.” The 
story is a short and sad one. It teaches the wretched- 
ness and evil that may result when truth is deviated from; 
it teaches the lengths to which a blind, unholy desire for 
revenge will carry an ill-regulated spirit; and it also shows 
how, in the moral government of the world, sin casts its 
hateful consequences upon the innocent as well as the 
guilty. 

When the carriage of Dr. Bevary, containing himself 
and MissOwinn, drove from Mr. Hunter’s door on the 
unknown errand, he — Mr. Hunter — staggered to a seat, 
ratlier tlian walked to it. That he was very ill that day, 
both mentally and bodily, there was no doubt; he was 
only too conscious of it. Austin had said to him, ‘‘Do 
not return: I will manage,” or words to that effect. At 
present Mr. Hunter felt himself incapable of returning. 

He sunk down in the easy-chair, and closed his eyes, 
his thoughts tlirown back to the past. An ill-starred 
past: one that had left its bane on his after life, whose 
consequences had clung to him like a covering, and must 
remain with him to the end of his days. It is impossi- 
ble, but ill-doing must leave its results behind: the laws 
of God and man alike demand it. ^Ir. Hunter, in early 
life, had been betrayed into committing a wrong act, and 
Miss Gwinn, in the gratification of her passionate revenge, 
had visited it upon him heavily. 

Heavily, most heavily, was it pressing upon him now. 
That unhappy visit to Wales, which had led to all the 
evil, was especially present to his mind tins evening. A 
handsome young man. in the first dawn of manhood, he 
had gone to tlie fnshionabh* Welsh watering-place — partly 
to renew a waste of strength, more imaginary than real; 
partly in the love of roving, natural to youth; partly to 
enjoy a few weeks’ relaxation. “ If you want unusually 
respectable lodgings, go to Miss Gwinn’s house, on the 
South Parade,” some friend, whom he had encountered 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


215 


at his journey’s end, liad eaid to him. And to Miss 
Gwinn’s he went, lie found Miss Gwinn ji cold, proud 
woman — it was slie whom you have seen — bearing tlie 
manners of a lady. The servant who waited upon him 
was garrulous, and ])roclaimed, at the first interview, 
amidst other gossip, that her mistress had but a limited 
income — a hundred, or a hundred and fifty pounds a 
year, she believed; that she prefeired to eke it out by 
letting her drawing-room and adjoining bedroom, and to 
live well, I’ather than to rusticate and pinch. Miss 
Gwinn and her motives were nothing to the young so- 
journer, and he turned a careless, if not a deaf ear to the 
gossip. ‘‘ She does it chiefly for the sake of Miss 
Emma,” added the girl; and the listener so far mused 
himself as to ask, apathetically, who “Miss Emma” \>as. 
It was her mistress’ young sister, the girl said; there 
must be twenty good years between them. Miss Emma 
was but nineteen, and had just come home from board- 
ing-school; her mistress had brought her up ever since 
the mother died. Miss Emma was not at home now, but 
was expected on the morrow, she went on. Miss Emma 
w’as not without her good looks, but her mistress took 
care they should not be seen by everybody. She’d hardly 
let her go about the house when strangers were in it, lest 
she should be met in the passages. Mr. Hunter laughed. 
Good looks had atti-actions for him in those days, and he 
determined to see for himself, in spite of Miss Gwinn, 
whether Miss Emma’s looks were so good that they might 
not be looked at. 

Now, by the merest accident— at least, it happened by 
accident in the first instance, and not by intention — one 
chief point in the future ill was unwittingly led to. In 
this early stage of the affair, while the servant-maid was 
exercising her tongue in these items of domestic news, 
the friend who had recommended Mr. Hunter to the 
apartments arrived at the house, and called out to him 
from the foot of the stairs, his high, clear voice echo- 
ing through the corridors: 

Lewis, will you come out and take a stroll?” 

Lewis Hunter hastened down, proclaiming his acqui- 
escence, and the maid proceeded to the parlor of her mis- 
tress. 


216 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


The gentleman’s name is Lewis, ma’am. Yon said 
yon forgot to ask it of him.” 

Miss Gwinn, methodiral in all she did, took a sheet of 
note paper and inscribed the name upon it, “ ]\Ir. Lewis,” 
as a reminder for the time when she should require to 
make out his bill. When Mr. Hunter found out tlieir 
error — for tlie maid hencefortJi addressed him as ‘‘Mr. 
Lewis,” or “ Mr. Li-wis, sir’’ — it rather amused him, and 
he did not correct the mistake. lie had no motive what- 
ever for concealing his name; he did not wish it con- 
cealed. On the other hand, he deemed it of no iinpor- 
ance to set them right; it signified not a jot to him 
whether tliey called liirn “Mr. Lewis” or “Mr. Hunter.” 
Thus they knew him, and believed him to be Mi-. Lewis 
only. He never took the trouble to undeceive them, and 
nothing arose to do it accidentally. ’J'he one or two let- 
ters only which arrived for him — for he had gone there 
for idleness, not to correspond with his friends — were <id- 
dressed to the post-office, in accordance with his primary 
directi. )ns, not knowing where he should lodge. 

“Miss Emma ” came home; a very pretty and agree- 
able girl. In the narrow passage of the house — one 
of those shallow residences built for letting apartments at 
the sea-side — she encountered the stranger, who happened 
to be going out as she entered. He lifted his hat to her. 

“Who is that, Nancy?” she asked of the chattering 
maid. 

“ It’s the new lodger, Miss Emma; Lewis, his name is: 
Did you ever see such good looks? And he has asked a 
thousand questions about you.” 

Now, the fact was, Mr. Hunter — stay, we will also call 
him Mr. Lewis for the time being, as they had fallen 
into the error — had not asked a single question about the 
young lady, save the one when her name was first spoken 
of, “Who is Miss Emma?” Nancy had supplied infor- 
mation enough for a “thousand” questions, unasked; 
and perhaps she saw no difference. 

“ Have you made any acquaintance with Mr. Lewis, 
Agatha?” Emma inquired of her sister. 

“When do I make acquaintance with the people who 
take my apartments?” replied Miss Gwinn, in a tone of 
reproof. “ They naturally look down upon me as a letter 
of lodgings — and I am not one to bear that.” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


m 


Now comps the unhappy tale. It shall be glanced at as 
briefly as possible in <]etail; but it is necessary that parts 
of it should be (explained. 

Acquaintanceship sprung up between Mr. Lewis and 
Emma Gwinn. At first tliey would meet in the town, or 
on the beacii, accidentally; and then, 1 very much fear 
that the meetings were tacitly, if not openly, more in- 
tentional. Both were agreeable, both were young, and a 
liking for each other’s society grew in each of them. j\Ir. 
Lewis found his time hting somewhat heavily on his 
hands, for his friend had left; and Emma Gwinn was 
not restricted from walking out as she jileased. Only 
one proviso was laid upon her by her sister — “Emma, 
take care that you make no acquaintance with strangers, 
or suffer it to be made with you. Speak to no one.” 

An injunction which Miss Emma disobeyed. She dis- 
obeyed it in a particularly marked manner. It was not 
only that she did permit Mr. Lewis to make acquaint- 
ance with her, but she allowed it to ripen into intimacy. 
Worse still, the meetings, I say, from having been at first 
really accidental, grew to be sought — sought on the ono 
side as much as on tlie other. 

Ah! young ladies, I wish this little history could be a 
warning to you, never to deviate from the strict line of 
right — never to stray, by so much as a thoughtless step, 
from the straight path of duty. Once allow yourselves 
to do so, and you know not where it may end. Slight 
acts of disobedience, that appear to you as the men'st 
trifles, may yet bo fraught with incalculable mischiefs. 
The falling into the habit of passing a pleasant hour of 
intercourse with Mr. Lewis, sauntering on the beach, in 
social and intellectual converse — anil it was no worse — 
appeared a very venial offense to Emma Gwinn. But she 
did it in direct disobedience to the command and wish of 
her sister; and she knew that she so did it. She know 
also that she owed to that sister, who had brought h.cr up 
and cared for her from infancy, the allegiance tint a 
child gives to a mother. In tin's early stage of the affair 
she was alone to blame — not klr. Lewis. It cannot bo 
said that blame attached to him. Tlmre was no reason 
why ho should not while away an occasional hour in 
pleasant chat with a young lady; there was no harm in 
the meetings, taking them in the abstract. The blame 


218 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


lay with her. It is no excuse to urge that Miss Gwinn 
exerciseil over her a too strict authority; that she kept 
her in, in some points, with an absurdly tight liand. 
But poor Emma Gwinn dreamt not of future ill as the 
result, and little thought what she was doing. At length 
it was found out by Miss Gwinn. 

She did not find out much. Indeed, there was not 
much to find: except that there was more friendship be- 
tween Mr. Lewis and Emma than tliere was between Mr. 
Lewis and herself, and that they often met to stroll on the 
beach, and enjoy the agreeable benefit of the sea breezes. 
But that was quite enough for Miss Gwinn. An uncon- 
trollable storm of passionate anger ensued, which was 
vented upon Emma. She stood over her, and forced her 
to attire licrself for traveling, protesting that not another 
hour should she remain in the house Avhile Mr. Lewis re- 
mained. Then she started with Emma, to place her 
umh'r the care of an aunt, who lived so far off as to be a 
day's journey. 

“It's a shame!" was the comment of sympathetic 
Nancy, > who deemed Miss Gwinn the most unreasonable 
woman under the sun. Nancy was lierself engaged to an 
enterprising porter, to whom she counted on being mar- 
ried some fine Easter, when they liad saved up sufficient 
to lay in a stock of goods and chattels. And she forth- 
with went straight to Mr. Lewis, and communicated to 
him wliat had occurred, giving him Emma's new address. 

“ lie’ll follow her, if he have got any spirit," was her 
inward thought. “ It's what rny Joe would do by me, if 
I was forced off to desert places by a old dragon." 

It was precisely what Mr. Lewis did do. Upon the re- 
turn of iMiss Gwinn, he gave notice to quit her house, 
where he had already stayed longer than she originally 
counted upon. Miss Gwinn had no suspicion but what 
he returned to his home — wherever that might be. 

You may be inclined to ask why Miss Gwinn had 
fallen into anger so great. That she loved her young 
sister with an intense and jealous love was certain. Miss 
Gwinn was of a peculiar temperament, and she could not 
bear that one spark of Emma’s affection should stray 
from her. The real fact of the case being — onlv, it is 
not the fashion, as you are aware, in our civilized life for 
polite relatives to betray the precise nature of their senti- 


A LIFE E SECRET. 


ai9 

ments one for the other — tliat very few sparks indeed of 
Emma’s affection went toward her sister at all. She did 
not entertain for her even a cool sisterly regard; and tlie 
cause may have lain , in the stern manners of Miss 
Gwinn. Deeply, ardently as she loved Emma, she yet 
was to her invariably cold and stern; and such manners 
do not beget love from the young. But to account for 
Miss Gwi nil’s passionate and causeless bursts of anger 
would be a vain attempt. They were frequent. 

It was an old tale, that, which ensued. Thanks be to 
good manners and morals, we can say an old ” tale, in 
contradistinction to a modern one. ^ A secret mari-iagein 
these days would bo looked upon in condemning askance 
both by old and young. Under the purest, the most 
domestic, the wisest court in the world, manners and 
customs with us have taken a turn, and society calls un- 
derhand doings by their right name, and turns its back 
upon them. Nevertheless, such foolish things as private 
marriages and runaway marriages were not unknown 
once: possibly, many of you, my readers, may remember 
instances amid the circle of your acquaintance. 

I wonder Avln^ther one ever took place — where it was 
contracted in disobedience and defiance — that did not 
bring, in some way or other, its own punishment? To 
few, perhaps, was it brought home as it was to Mr. Hun- 
ter. No apology can be offered for the step he took; not 
even his youth, or his want of experience, or the attach- 
ment whi(!h had grown up in his heart for Emma. He 
knew that his father would have objected to his marry- 
ing her, on several grounds. In fact, he dared not tell 
him his purpose. Her position was not equal to his — 
old Mr. Hunter, a proud man, would not have deemed it 
to be so — and he would have olijected on the score of his 
son’s youth. AVorst bar of all, there was madness, rank 
madness in Emma Gwinn’s family. So James Lewis 
Hunter took that one false, blind, irrevocable step of con- 
tracting a private marriage; and the consequences came 
bitterly home to him. 

Six months afterward Emma Gwinn — nay, Emma Hun- 
ter — lay upon her death-bed. She had lived on at her 
aunt’s as Emma Gwinn, he being chiefly in London at his 
own home. A fever broke out in the neighborhood, 
which Emma caught, and Miss Gwinn, when apprised 


220 A LIFE’S SECRET, j 

that she was in danger, hastened to ,ker. Medical skill 
could not save her, and when she was in the death agony 
she confessed her marriage; the baa’o fact only; none of 
its details; she loved her husband- ioo truly to expose him 
to the dire wrath of her sister; aiid she died without giv- 
ing the slightest clew to his real name — Hunter. 

Dire wrath, indeed! That was scarcely the word for 
it. Insane wrath would be better. In Miss Gwinn^s in- 
justice (violent people always are unjust), she persisted in 
attributing Emma’s death to Mr. Lewis. In her bitter 
grief, she jumped to thb belief that the secret must have 
preyed upon Emma’s hrain in the delirium of fever, and 
that tiiat prevented her recovery. It is very probable 
that the secret did prey upon it, though, it is to be hoped, 
not to the extent assumed by Miss Gwinn. 

Strange coincidence as it may appear to be, Mr. Lewis 
arrived from London on the day after the funeral. lie 
had been for some weeks on the Continent, as his wife had 
known; lienee the reason that she did not write to him 
wlien taken ill. Nobody need envy him the interview 
with Miss Gwinn; on her part, it was not a seemly one. 
Glad to get out of the house and be away from her re- 
proaches, the stormy interview was concluded almost as 
soon as it was begun, and the same night he returned to 
London a widower — Miss Gwinn still in ignorance of his 
real name. 

Following almost close upon Emma’s death, illness at- 
tacked another sister of Miss Gwinn’s — Elizabeth. It 
has not been necessary previously to mention her. 
Though but little older than Emma, she was married, 
and lived with her husband in the Isle of Jersey. When 
Miss Gwinn heard of her illness, she hastened to her, as 
she had done to Emma; for the one was quite as dear to 
her as the other had been. It was a peculiar illness, and 
it ended in a hopeless affection of the brain. Insanity 
had always been feared for her — though not in a greater 
degree than for the rest of the family. They were all 
liable to it in the opinion of the medical men. 

Once more Miss Gwinn’s injustice came into play. 
Like as she had attributed Emma’s death, in a remote 
degree, to Mr. Lewis, so did she now attribute to him the 
affliction which had come upon this other sister. That 
the two young sisters had been very warmly attached was 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


• t21 


undoubted; but to say that this state of mind liad re- 
sulted from Elizabeth’s sorrow at lier sister’s loss, at the 
tidings of what had r)reeeded it, was untrue. It may 
have had something to do with it, in the shape of bring- 
ing out the malady sooner than it would otherwise have 
shown itself; but its eause it \vas not. The poor young 
lady was placed in an asylum in London, of which Dr. 
Bevary was a visiting physician; and, by the death of 
her husband soon afterward, she had to be maintained 
thei-e at Miss Gwinn’s cost. 

Miss Gwinn could only do this at the expense of giving 
up her home. Ill-tempered as she was, we must confess 
she had her troubles. She gave it up without a murmur; 
she would have given up her life to benefit either of those, 
lier young sisters. Retaining but a mere pittance, she 
devoted all her means to the comfort of Elizabeth. Pri- 
vate asylums are expensive; and she found a home with 
her brother, in Ketterford, where she spent her days be- 
moaning the lost, and cherishing a really insane hatred 
against Mr. Lewis — a desire for revenge. 

She had never come across him, until that Easter Mon- 
day, at Ketterford. And that, you will say, is scarcely 
correct, since it was not himself she met then, but his 
brother. Deceiveil by the resemblance she attacked Mr. 
Henry Hunter in the manner you remember; and Austin 
Clay saved him from the gravel-pit. But the time soon 
came when she stood face to face with Mm. It was the 
liOLir she had so longed for — the hour of revenge. 

What revenge? But for the wicked lie slie forged, 
there could have been no revenge. The woi-st she could 
have proclaimed was that James Lewis Hunter, when he 
was a young man, had so far forgotten his duty to him- 
self, and to the worhl’s decencies, as to contract a secret 
marriage. True, he might have a'd<nowledged he had 
done so; but his wife had died shorth^ leaving him free. 
And though he had mourned her sincerely, the time came 
when he had grown to think that all things were for the 
best — that it was a serious sort of embarrassment removed 
from his path. 

What revenge could there have been in this? None, 
certainlv, to satisfy one so vindictive as Miss Gwinn. She 
found hi m a man with social ties. He had married Louisa 
Bevary; he had a fair daughter: and the demon of mis- 


222 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


cliief put it into lier head to impose upon iiim the story 
that Ids fii sr. wifewns still livin,<j:; that she — she lierself — 
had deceived him when she told him of her death; tluit 
she was, in fact, the patient of the asylum. From that 
hour — you must remember the interview, and Mr. Ilnn- 
teFs fearful agitation subsequent upon it — the sun of his 
life’s peace had set. Dr. Bevary bect^me impressed with 
the same belief — not by broad assertions from Miss Gwinn, 
but by doubtful hints which so frightened him that he 
dared ask nothing. Next came down Gwinn of Ketter- 
ford upon Mr. Hunter. He learnt from his sister what 
she had done, and he turned it pretty handsomely to his 
own account. When Miss Gwinn found out that he was 
using it for the base purpose of extorting money, she felt 
half inclined to frustrate the scheme, by declaring the 
truth to Mr. Hunter. With all her faults, she was not 
mercenary. A fine life, between them, had they led Mr. 
Hunter, in his agony of mind, at the disgrace cast upon 
Mrs. Hunter and liis child; in his terror lest the truth 
(as he believed it) should reach tiiem, he lived, it may be 
said, aperpetmd death. And the disgrace never could be 
removed; and the terror had never left liim through all 
these long years. 

All this was what his thoughts were cast upon, as he 
sat now in the easy-chair of his dining-room. How long 
he sat there he scarcely knew; but it was for hours. 
Then ho aroused himself to the present; ho remembered 
that he had purposed calling that day upon his bankers, 
though he had no hope — but rather the certainty of the 
contrary — that they would help him out of his financial 
embarrassments. 

There was just time to get there before the bank 
closed, und Mr. Hunter had a cab called, and went down 
to Lombard Street. He was showm into the room of the 
principal. The banker thought how ill he looked. His 
first question was about the heavy bill that wms duo 
that day; he supposed it had been presented and dis- 
honored. 

No,” said the banker. It was presented and paid.” 

A ray of hope lighted up the sadness of Mr. Hunter’s 
face. “ Did you indeed pay it? It was very kind. You 
shall be no eventual losers.” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


223 


We did not pay it from our own funds, Mr. Hunter. 
It was paid from yours. 

Mr. Hunter did not understand. '‘I thought my ac- 
count liad been nearly dniwn out,” lie said; “ and by the 
note I received this morning from you, I understood that 
you would decline to help me.” 

“ Your account was drawn very close indeed; but this 
afternoon, in time to meet the bill upon its second presen- 
tation, there was a large sum paid in to your credit — two 
thousand six hundred pounds.” 

A pause of blank astonishment on the part of Mr. Hun- 
ter. “ Who paid it in?” he presently asked. 

“Mr. Olay. He came himself. You will weather the 
storm now, Mr. Hunter.” 

There was no answering reply. The banker bent for- 
ward in the dusk of the growing evening, and saw that 
Mr. Hunter was incapable of making one. He was sink- 
ing back in his chair in a fainting fit. Wliether it was 
the revulsion of feeling caused by the conviction that he 
sho 2 tld now weather the storm, or simply the effect of his 
physical state, Mr. Hunter had fainted, like any girl 
might do. One of the partners lived at tlie bank, and 
Mr. Hunter was conveyed into the dwelling-house. It 
was quite evening before he was well enough to leave it. 

He di-ove to the yard. It was closed for the night, and 
Mr. Olay was gone. Mr. Hunter ordered the cab home. 
He found Austin waiting for him, and he also found Dr. 
Bevai'V. Seeing the latter, he expected next to see Miss 
Gwinn, and glanced nervously round. 

“ She is gone back to Ketterford,” spoke out Dr. Be- 
vary, divining tlu‘ fear. “ She will never trouble you 
again. I thought you must be lost. Hunter. 1 have been 
here twice, been home to dinner with Florence, been 
round at the yard, wonying Clay, and could not come 
upon you.” 

“I went to the bank, and was taken ill there,” said 
Mr. Hunter. “Austin” — laying his hand upon the young 
man’s shonkhn* — “ what am I to say? This money can 
only have come from you.” 

“ Sir!” said Austin, half laughing. 

Mr. Hunter drew Dr. Bevury’s attention, pointing to 
Austin. “ Look at him, Bevary. He has saved me. But 
for him, I should have borne a dishonored name this day. 


224 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


I went clown to Lombard Street, a man without hope, be- 
lieving that the blow had been already struck in bills dis- 
honored — that my name was on its way to the Gazette. 
I found that he, Austin Clay, had paid in between two 
and three thousand pounds to my credit, and so saved 
me.” 

“ I could not put my money to a better use, sir. The 
two thousand pounds were left to me, you know: the rest 
I saved. I was wishing for something to turn up that I 
could invest it in.” 

“ Invest!” exclaimed Mr. Hunter, deep feeling in his 
tone. How do you know you will not lose it?” 

‘‘I have no fear, sir. The strike is at an end, and 
business will go on well now.” 

'‘If 1 did not believe that it would, I would never con- 
sent to use it,” said Mr. Hunter. " Austin, how am I to 
repay you ?” 

A red flush mounted to Austin’s brow, but he hastily 
answered: " I do not require payment, sir; I do not look 
for any.” 

" Will you link your name to mine?” 

" In what manner, sir?” 

“By letting the firm be from henceforth Hunter & 
Clay. I have long wished this; you are of too great use 
to me to remain anything less than a partner, and by 
this last act of yours, you have earned the right to be so. 
Will you object to join your name to one which was so 
near being dishonored?” 

He held out his hand as he spoke, and Austin clasped 
it. “ Oh! Mr. Hunter!” he exclaimed, in the strong im- 
pulse of the moment, “ I wish you would give me hopes 
of a dearer rewai-d.” 

“ You mean Florence,” said Mr. Hunter. 

“Yes,” returned Austin, in agitation. “I care not 
how long I wait, or what price you may call upon me to 
pay for her. As Jacob served Laban seven years for 
Kachel, so would I serve for Florence, and think it but a 
day, for the love I bear her. Sir, Mrs. Hunter would 
have given her to me.” 

“ My objection is not to you, Austin. Were I to dis- 
close to you certain particulars connected with Florence 
— as I should be obliged to do before she married — you 
might yourself decline her.” 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


225 


''Try me, sir,’' said Austin, a bright smile parting his 
lips. 

Ay, try him," put in Dr. Bevary, in his quaint man- 
ner, “I h{ive an idea that he may know as mncli of the 
matter as you do. Hunter. You neither of you know too 
much," he significantly added. 

Austin’s cheek turned red; and tliere was that in his 
tone, his look, which told Mr. Hunter tlnit he had known 
the fact, had known it for years. Oh, sir," he pleaded, 
"give me P'lorence." 

" I tell you that neither of you know too much," said 
Dr. Bevary. " But, look here, Austin, the best thing 
you can do is, to go to my house and ask Florence whether 
she will have yon. Then — if you don’t find it too much 
trouble — escort her home." 

Austin laughed as he caught up his hat. He found 
Flotence alone. She looked surprised to see him, and 
asked why he had come. 

"To take you home, for one thing. Do you dislike 
the escort, Florence?" 

He bent toward her as he asked the question. A 
strange light of In-ippiness shone in his eyes — a sweet 
smile hovered on his li[)S. Florence Hunter’s he:irt stood 
still, and then beat as if it would burst its bounds. 

" W’hat has happened?" she stammered. 

"This," he answered, drawing her gently to him; 
^‘the right to hold you here, Florence — to make you 
my wife, to love yon, and demand that you love me in 
return — forever. It has been given to me by your 
father." 

The words, in their fervid earnestness, carried instant 
truth to her heart, lighting it up with a joyousness as of 
the bi’ightest sunshine. Oh, what a I'ecompense!’’ she 
impulsively uttei-ed from the depths of her great love: 
“ what a recompense after all niy doubts aiid tronblel" 

"Ko more doubts, no more tiouble," he fondly whis- 
pered. " It shtill be my life’s labor henceforth to guard 
them from you, Florence, God helping me." 


CHAPTER XXL 

"Did it ever strike yen that Austin Clay knew your 
secret?" inquired Dr. Bevary of Mr. Hunter, when he 


22(5 A LIFE'S SECRET. 

was left alone with him after Austin’s departure in search 
of Florence. 

‘‘ How sliould it?” returned Mr. Hunter. 

‘‘Ido not know how,” said the doctor, “any more 
than I know how the impression, that he did, fixed itself 
upon me. I have felt sure, this many a year past, that 
he was no stranger to the fact, though he probably knew 
nothing of the details.” 

“ When did you become acquainted with it?” rejoined 
Mr. Hunter, in a tone of sharp pain. 

“ I became acquainted with your share of it at the 
time Miss Gwinn discovered that Mr. Lewis was Mr. 
Hunter. James, why did you not confide the secret to 
me? It would have been much better.” 

“ To yon ! Louisa’s brother!” 

“It would have been better, I say. It might not have 
lifted the sword that was always hanging over Louisa’s 
head, or have ensed it by one jot; but it might have eased 
you. A sorrow kept within a man’s own bosom, doing its 
work in silence, will burn his life away; get him to talk 
of it, and half the pain is removed. It is also possible 
that I might have made better terms than you, with the 
rapacity of Gwinn.” 

“ If you knew it, how was it that you did not speak 
openly to me?” 

Dr. Bevary suppressed a shudder^ “It was one of 
those terrible secrets that a tliird party cannot interfere 
in uninvited. No; silence was my only course, so long 
as you observed silence to me. Had I interfei-ed I 
must have said, ‘ Louisa shall leave yon.’” 

“ It is over, so far as she is concerned,” said Mr. 
Hunter, wiping his damp brow. “ Let her name rest. 
It is the thought of her which has well-nigh killed me.” 

“ Ay, it is over,” responded Dr. Bevary; “over, in 
more senses than one. Do you not wonder that Miss 
Gwinn should have gone back to Ketterford, without mo- 
lesting you again?” 

“ How can 1 wonder at anything she does? She comes 
and she goes, with as little reason as warning.” 

Dr. Bevary lowered his voice. “ Have you ever been 
to see the poor patient in Kerr’s asylum?” 

'J'he question excited the anger of Mr. Hunter. “ What 
do you mean by asking it?” he cried. “ When I was 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


227 


led to believe her dead I shaped my future course ac- 
cording to that belief. I have never acted, nor would I 
act, upon any other — save in the giving money to Gwinn, 
for my wife’s sake. If Louisa was not my wife legally, 
she was nothing less in the sight of God.” 

^‘Louisa was your wife,” said Dr. Bevary, quietly. 
And Mr. blunter responded by a sharp gesture of sur- 
prise. The doctor continued: 

James, had you gone, though it had been for an in- 
stant, to see that unhappy patient of Kerr’s, your 
trammels would have been at an end. It was not Emma, 
your young wife of years ago.” 

It was not! What do you say?” gasped Mr. Hunter. 

‘MVlien Agatha Gwinn found you out here in this 
house, she startled you nearly to death by telling you that 
Emma was alive — was a patient in Kerr’s Asylum. She 
told you that, when you had been informed in those back 
days of Emma’s death, you had been imposed on by a 
lie— -a lie invented by herself. James, the lie was ut- 
tered then; when she spoke to you here. Emma, your 
wife, did die; and the young woman in the Asylum was 
a sister.” 

j\Ir. Hunter rose. His hands wore raised imploringly, 
his face was stretched out in its sad yearning. “ What! 
— which was true? which was he to believe.” 

‘‘In the gi-atification of her revenge. Miss Gwinn con- 
cocted the tale ihat Emma was alive, knowing, as slie 
spoke it, that Emma had been dead for years and years. 
She contrived to foster the same impression upon me; 
and the same impression, I cannot tell how, has, I ;im 
sure, clung to Austin Clay. Lousia was your lawful wife, 
James.” 

Ml’. Hunter, in the plenitude of his thankfulness, 
sank upon his chair, a wailing burst of emotion breaking 
from him, and the drops of perspiration gathering again 
on his brow. 

“ That other one, the sister, the poor patient, is dead,” 
resumed Dr. Bevary. “As we stood together over her, 
an hour ago. Miss Gwinn confessed the imjiositiou. It 
appeared to slip from her involuntarily, in spite of herself. 
I inquired lier motive, and slieanswered, ‘ To be revenged 
on you, Lewis Hunter, for the wrong you had done.’ As 
she stood in her impotence, looking on the dead, I asked 


228 


A LIFERS SECRET, 


lier which, in her opinion, had done the most wrong, she 
or you V 

Mr. Hunter lifted his eager face. It was a foolish 
deceit. Wiuit did she hope to gain by it? A word, at 
any time, might have exposed it.’’ 

*'It seems she did gain prettv well byit,^^ significantly 
replied Dr. Bevary. ‘‘There^s little doubt that it was 
first spoken in the angry.rage of the moment, as being 
the most effectual mode of tormenting you, and the ler- 
rible dread with which you received it — as I conclude 
you so did receive it — encouraged her to persist in it. 
James, you should have confided in me; I might have 
brought light to bear on it in some way or other. Your 
timorous silence has kept me silent.'’^ 

“God be thanked that it is over!’' fervently ejaculated 
Mr. Hunter. “ The loss of my money, the loss of my 
peace, they seem to be little in comparison with this 
welcome revelation. She — the sister — you say, is dead?" 

“ Slie is dead, poor thing; and Miss Gwinn has gone 
back home to trouble you no more." 

They ^continued talking. After some time Austin en- 
tered with Florence. Dr. Bevary turned upon them 
with mock gravity. 

“ How you have hurried yourselves! I fear you must 
be ill from walking fast. What can have kept him, Flor- 
ence?" 

“ Not your patients, doctor," said Austin, laughing, 
“though you are keeping them. Some, whom you maJe 
an appointment with, are vowing vengeance against you 
for not attending to it." 

“Ah," said the doctor, “we medical men do get de- 
tained sometimes. One patient has had the whole of my 
time this day." 

“ Is she better?" inquired Florence. “ Was it a lady?" 

“No, my dear, she is not better; she is dead," was the 
grave answer. “And therefore," the doctor added, “I 
have no further excuse for absenting myself from those 
other patients who are alive and grumbling after me." 

He made an imperceptible sign to Austin, to follow 
him from the room, and linked his arm with his as he 
crossed the hall. “ How did you become acquainted with 
that dark secret?" he breathed in his ear. 

“ Through a misdirected letter of Miss Gwinn's. After 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


«39 

I bad read it.. I discovered that it must have been meant 
for Mr. Hunter, though addressed to me. It told me all. 
Dr. Bevary, I liave liad to carry the secret about with 
me all these years, bearing myself as one innocent of the 
knowledge — before Mrs. Hnnter, before Florence, before 
him. 1 would have given half my savings not to have 
known it."’^ 

^^Were you aware that — that — one was living who 
might have displaced Mrs. Hunter?” 

Yes; and that she was in confinement. The letter, 
a reproachful one, was too explanatory.” 

“ She died this morning. It is with her — at least with 
her affairs — that rny day has been taken up.” 

What a mercy!” ejaculated Austin. 

‘^Ay, mercies are showered down every day; avast 
many more than we, self-complaisant mortals, acknowl- 
edge or return thanks for,” responded Dr. Bevary, in 
the quaint tone he was given to favor. And ihen, in a 
few brief words, he enlightened Austin as to the actual 
truth. 

What a fiend she must be!” cried Austin, alluding to 
Miss Gwinn of Ketterford. Oh, but this is a mercy 
indeed! And I have been planning how to guard the se- 
cret always from Florence!” 

Dr. Bevary made no reply. Austin turned to him, the 
ingenuous look upon his face. You do approve of mo 
for Florence, do you not, sir?” 

Be you very sure, young gentleman, that you sliould 
never have got her, had I not approved,” oracularly 
nodded Dr. Bevary. ‘‘ I look upon Florence as part of 
my belongings; and, if you mind what you are jibout, 
and doiFt offend me, perhaps I may look upon you as the 
same.” 

Austin laughed. '^IIoAvam I to avoid offense?” ho 
asked. 

“By loving your wife with an earnest, lasting love; by 
making her a bettor husband than James Hunter has 
been enabled to make her poor mother.” 

The tears rose to Austin’s eyes with the intensity of his 
emotion. “Do you think there is cause to ask me to do 
this. Dr. Bevary?” 

“ No, my boy, I do not. God bless you both! There! 


230 


A LIFE’S SECRET. 


leave me to get home to those patients of mine. You 
can be off back to her.^’ 

A few days given to preliminaries, and tlien Mr. Hun- 
ter stood before his workmen, his arm within Austin 
Clay’s. lie was introducing them to his new partner. 
The strike was at an end, and the men — so many as could 
be made room for — had returned; but Mr. Huntei’ would 
not consent to discharge the liands that had come for- 
ward to take work in the emergencv. 

“ What has the stiike brought you?” inquired Mr. 
Hunter. “Any good?” 

Strictly speaking, the men could not reply that it had. 
In the silence that ensued after the question, one man’s 
voi(*e was at length raised. “ We look back upon it as a 
subject of congratulation, sir.” 

“Congratulation!” exclaimed Mr. Hunter. “Upon 
what point?” 

“ 'I'hat we have had the pluck to hold out so long in 
the teeth of difficulties,” replied the voice. 

“Pluck is a good quality when rightly applied,” ob- 
served Mr. Hunter. “ JMit what good has the ‘pluck,’ 
or the strike, brought to you in this case? — for that was 
the question we were upon.” 

“it was a. lockout, sir: not a strike.” 

“ In the first instance it was a strike,” said Mr. Hun- 
ter. “ Trollope’s men struck, and you had it in contem- 
])hition to follow tl:eir example. Oh! yes, you had, rnv 
men; you know as well as I do that the measure was under 
discussion. Upon that state of affairs becoming known, 
the masters determined upon a general lockout. The}’’ 
did it in self-defense; and if you will put yourselves in 
thought into their places, judging fairly, you may not 
wonder that they considered it was the only course open 
to them. The lockout lasted but a short period, and then 
the yards were again opened — open to all who would re- 
sume work uj/on theohl terms, and sign a declaration not 
to be under the dominion of the Trades’ Unions. How 
very few availed themselves of this, you do not need to 
be reminded.” 

“ We acted for what we thought the best, sir,” said 
another. 

“ I know you did,” replied Mr. Hunter. “ You are — 
speaking of you collectively — steady, hard-working, well- 


A LIFE'S SECRET, 


231 


meaning men, who wish to do tlie host for yourselves, 
your wives and families. But, looking back now, do you 
consider that it was for the best? You have returned to 
work upon precisely the same terms you wore offered 
then, having held out to the very verge of starvation. 
Here we are in the depth of winter, and what sort of 
homes do you possess to fortify yourselves against its se- 
verities?’' 

Wlijit sort indeed! Mr. Hunter’s delicacy shrank from 
depicting them. 

am not speaking to you now as your master,” 
he continued, conscious that men do not like, and in 
some cases will not brook, this style of converse fi-om 
their rulers. Consider me for the moment your friend 
only; let us talk together as man and man — as equals on 
the great stage of life. 1 wish I could bring you to see 
the evil of these convulsions; I do not wish it from mo- 
tives of self-interest, but for your sole good. You may be 
thinking, ‘Ah, the master is afraid of another contest; 
this one has done liim so much damage, and that’s why 
he is going on at us against them.’ You are mistaken; 
that is not why 1 speak. My men, were any further con- 
tests to take place between us, in which you held your- 
selves aloof from work, as you have done in this, we 
should at once place ourselves beyond dependence upon 
you, by bringing over foreign workmen. In the consul- 
tations which have been held between myself and Mr. 
Clay relative to the terms of our partnership, this ])oint 
has been fully discussed, and our determination taken. 
Should we have a repetition of the past — and some think 
that it is not unlikely — Hunter & Clay would then im- 
port their own workmen.” 

“ And other firms as well!” interrupted a voice. 

“We know' nothing of what other firms might do; to 
attend to our own interests is enough for us. I liope we 
shall never have to do this; but it is only fair to inform 
you that such would be our course of action. If you, our 
native workmen, brothers of the soil, abandon your work 
from any ci'otchets ” 

“Crotchets, sir!” 

“Ay, crotchets — according to my opinion,” repeated 
Mr. Hunter. “ Could you show me a real grievance, it 
might be a different matter. But let us leave motives 


333 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


filone, and go to effects. When I say that I wish you 
could see the evil ot these convulsions, I speak solely with 
reference to your good, to the well-being of your families. 
It cannot have escaped your notice that my health has 
become greatly shattered — that, in all pi'obability, my life 
will not be much prolonged. My friends” — his voice sunk 
to a deep, solemn tone — “ believing, as 1 do, that I shall 
soon stand before my Maker, to give an account of my 
works here, could I, from any paltry motive of .'•elf-in- 
terest, deceive you ? Could I say one thing and mean 
anotlier? No; when I seek to warn you against future 
troubles, I do it for your own sakes. If yon can keep 
clear of them, do so. Whatever may be the urging 
motive of a strike, whether good or bad, fancied or real, 
it can only bring ill in the working. I would say were I 
not a master, ‘ Put up with a grievance, rather than enter 
upon a strike;^ but, being a master, you might miscon- 
strue the advice. My attention has been very much 
drawn of late to past strikes, and I cannot read of one that 
was not pi’oductive of evil. I am not going into the merits 
of the measures — to say this past strike was right, or that 
it was wrong; I speak only of the terrible amount of suf- 
fering they wrought. A man said to me the other day — 
he was from the factory districts — ‘I have a liorror of 
strikes, they have worked so much evil in our trade. ^ You 
can get books which tell of them, and lead for yourselves. 
How many orphans, and widows, and men in prisons are 
there, who have cause to curse this past strike! You 
know of a few; you do not know of nil. It has broken up 
homes that, before it came, were homes of plenty and 
content, leaving in them despair and death. Let us try 
and go on better for the future.” 

Every woid spoken by ]\Ir. Hunter, Daffodil's Delight 
could echo. Whether the men were in fault and brought 
the contest on needlessly, or whether they were justified, 
according to the laws of right and reason, it matters not 
here to discuss; the effects were the same, and they stood 
out brc.ad, and bare, and hideous. Men had died of want, 
had been cast into prison, where they still lay, had com- 
mitted social crimes, in their great need, against their 
fellow-men; worse than all, some, unable longer to bear 
up against their accumulation of distress, mental and 
bodily, had rushed, uncalled, into the dread presence of 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


283 


God. Women had been reduced to the lowest extremes 
of misery and suiferiiig, bad been transformed into vira- 
goes, where they once had been pleasant aiid peaceful; 
children had died off by scores. Homes weredismantled; 
Mr. Cox h.id cartloads of things that stood no chance of 
being recalled, and that could not be leplaced in a dozen 
years. Families united before were scattered now; young 
men were driven upon idleness and evil courses; young 
women upon worse, for they were irredi'emable. Would 
the men learn wisdom for the future by all this? It was 
uncertain. 

When Austin Clay returned home that evening, he gave 
Mrs. Quale notice to quit. She received it in a spii’it of 
resignation, intimating that she had been expecting it — 
tluit lodgings such as liers were not fit for Mr. Clay, now 
that he was Mr. Hunter’s partner. 

Austin laughed. ^‘1 suppose you think I ought to set 
np a house of my own.” 

“I dare say yoidll be doing that one of these days, 
sir,” she responded. 

'‘I dare say I shall,” said Austin. 

I wonder whether what Mr. Hunter said to-day will 
do any of ^ern any service?” cried Peter Quale. What 
do you think, sir?” 

I think it ought,” replid Austin. ^'Whether it will, 
is anotlier question.” * 

It mostly lies in this — in the men’s being let alone,” 
nodded Peter. “ Leave ’em to theirselves, and tliey’ll go 
on steady enough; but if them Trade Union folks, Sam 
Shuck and liis lot, get over them again, there’ll bo more 
outbreaks.” 

“Sam Shuck is safe for some months to come.” 

“But there’s others of liis persuasion that ain’t, sir; 
and Sam’ll be out some time.” 

“Quale, I give the hands credit for better sense than 
to suffer themselves to fall under his yoke again, now that 
he has shown himself in his true colors.” 

“I don’t give ’em credit for any sense at all, when 
they get unsettled notions iiito their heads,” phleg- 
matically returned Peter Quale. “I’d like to know 
whether it’s the Union that's helping Shiiek’s wife and 
children. Nancy said she was a-buying a sheep’s heart 
yesterday.” 


254 A J.IFE^S SECRET, 

^‘Sheep’s hearts is clieap now, in tliis quarter,’^ put in 
Mrs. Qinile. ‘‘ When customers run scarce, meat goes 
down. To tliink of the fools this Daffodil's Delight has 
turned out this last six months!" slie emphatically added. 

To have lived upon their clothes and furniture, their 
saucepans and kettles, their bedding and their children's 
shoes, when they might, most of 'em, have earned thirty- 
three shillings a week at their ordinary work! When 
folks can be so blind as that, it isn't of no good talking 
to 'em; their eyesight's obscured, and black looks white, 
and white black." 

Austin laughed at the remark, though it was not void 
of some rough reason — and went out. He was not going 
in to see Jolin Baxendale. The man's injuries had taken 
a turn, and he was recovering fast, hoping soon to be at 
woik again. He was sitting by ihe bedside, dressed, 
when Austin entered. 

“ Well, Baxendale — still getting belter?" 

^^Oh, yes, sir; Tm thankful to say it. The surgeon 
was here to-<lay, and told mo I need fear no further re- 
la[)se. I am a bit tired this evening; I stood a good while 
watching the folks opposite. She was giving him such a 
basting!" 

What! do you mean the Cheeks?" 

Baxendale laughed. She set on and she shook him 
soundly, and then she scratched him, and then she cuffed 
him — all outside the door. I do wonder that Cheek took 
it from her; but he’s just like a young puppy in her hands, 
and nothing better. Two good hours they were disputing 
there." 

“ What’s the warfare about?" 

About his not getting work, sir. Cheek's wife was 
just like manyanother wife in Daffodil's Delight — urging 
her husband not to go to work, and vowing she'd strike if 
he didn't stand out. 1 don’t know but Mother Cheek 
was about the most obstinate of all — making a merit of 
keeping him herself, and finding him in beer and tobacco. 
The very day of the night that I was struck down I heard 
her blowing him up for not ‘standing firm upon his 
rights,' and telling him she'd rather go to his hanging 
than see him go back to work. And now she beats him 
because he can't get an} thing to do." 

“ Is Cheek one that cannot get any?" 


A LIFEAS SECRET. 


235 


Cheek’s one, sir. Mr. Henry took on more strangers 
than did you and Mr, Hunter; so, of course, there’s less 
room for his old men. Cheek has walked about London 
these two days, till he’s footsore, trying different shops, 
but he can’t get taken on; there are too many out for him 
to have a chance. And she turns round and visits it 
upon him. 

think some of the wives in Daffodil’s Delight are 
the most unreasonable women that ever were created,” 
ejaculated Austin. 

She is — that wife of Cheek’s,” rejoined Baxendale. 

I don’t know how they’ll end it. She has shut the 
door in his face, vowing that he shall not put a foot in- 
side it until he can bring some wages with him. Forbid- 
ding him to take work vi^hen it was to be had, and, now 
that it can’t be had, turning upon him for not getting 
it! If Cheek wasn’t a donkey he’d turn upon her again. 
There’s other women just as contradictory. I think the 
bad living has soured their tempers.” 

Wliere’s Mary this evening?” inquired Austin. Since 
her father’s illness Mary’s place had been by his side; it 
was something unusual to iiiid her absent. 

Baxendale lowered his voice as he replied, ‘^She is get- 
ting ill again, sir. All her old symptoms have come 
back, and I am sure now that she is going fast. She is 
on her bed, lying down.” 

As he spoke the last words, he stopped, for Mary en- 
tered. She seemed scarcely able to walk; a hectic flush 
shone on her cheeks, and her breath was painfully short. 

Mary,” Austin said, wilh much concern, I am sorry 
to see you thus.” 

‘‘It is only the old illness come back again, sir,” she 
smiled, as she sunk back in the pillowed chair. “ 1 knew 
it had not gone for good — that the improvement was but 
temporary. But now, sir, look how good and merciful 
God is — and yet we sometimes doubt him. What should 
he have spared me for, and given me this glimpse of 
strength, but that I migiit nurse my father in his illness, 
and be a comfort to him? He is nearly well — will soon 
be at work again, and wants me no more. Thanks ever 
be to God!” 

Austin went out, marveling at the girl’s simple and 
beautiful trust — feeling that she was fit for her removal 


236 


A LIFERS SECRET. 


whenever it should come. As ho was passing up the 
street lie met Dr. Bevaiy. 

‘‘I liear Mary Baxendulo is worse/’ the doctor said. 

^‘Very much worse/’ replied Austin. 1 have just 
left her father.” 

At that moment there was a sound of contention and 
scolding, a woman’s sharp tongue being uppermost. It 
proceeded from Mrs. Cheek, who was renewing the con- 
test with her husband. Austin gave Dr. Bevary an out- 
line of what Baxendale had said. 

^‘'And if another strike should come in a years time, 
these women would be the first again to urge the men 
on to it — to ^ stand up for their rights!’ ” exclaimed the 
doctor. 

Not all of them.” 

Of course, not all. They have not all done it now. 
Mark you, Austin! I shall settle a certain sum upon Flor- 
ence when she marries, just to help you both, and any 
olive branches you may be troubled .with, in bread and 
cheese, should these strikes become the order of the day, 
and you get ingulfed in them.” 

Austin smiled. think I can take better care than 
that, doctor.” 

Take all the care you please. I shall put Florence 
on the safe side, in spite of your care. I have no 
fancy to see her reduced to one maid and a cotton gown. 
Of course, you are going round to her! you can tell her 
so.” 

Austin laughed; but he warmly grasped the doctor’s 
hand. 

He had turned on his way, when a man stole up to him 
from some side entry — a cadaverous-looking man, pinched 
and careworn. It was James Dunn: he had been dis- 
charged out of prison by the charity of some fund at the 
disposal of the governor. He liuinbly begged for work 
— ^‘just to keep him from starving.” 

You ask what I have not to give, Dunn,” was the 
reply of Austin. '^Our yard is full; and, consider the 
season. Perhaps, when spring comes on ” 

How am I to exist till spring, sir,” he burst forth in 
a voice that was but just kept from tears — and the wife, 
and the cliildren?” 


A LIFE'S SECRET. 


287 


wish I could help you, Dunn. Your case is but 
that of many otliers.^^ 

‘‘There have been so many strangers took on, sir!’' 

“Of course — to do the work that you and others re- 
fused." 

“ I have not a place to lay my head this night, sir. I 
have not so much as a slice of bread. Td do the mean- 
est work that could be offered to me." 

Austin felt in his pocket for a small piece of money, 
and gave it to him. “ What misery they have brought 
upon themselves!" he thought, as he moved away, and 
proceeded to Mr. Hunter's. 

“Austin, you must live with me." 

The words came from Mr. Hunter. Austin happened 
to remark that he had been giving Mrs. Quale notice, and 
must now determine upon his future residence. He 
looked at Mr. Hunter. 

“ Do you think that I could spare Florence? Where 
my home is, yours and hers must be. Is not this house 
large enough for us? Why should you seek another?" 

“ Quite large enough, sir. But — but I had not thought 
of it. It shall be as you and Florence will." 

They both turned to her; she was standing underneath 
the light of the chandelier, the rich damask color man- 
tling in her cheeks. 

“ I could not give you to him, Florence, if it involved 
your leaving me." 

The tears glistened on her eyelashes. In the impulse 
of the moment she stretched out a hand to each. “ There 
is room for us all, papa, "she softly whispered. 

Mr. Hunter drew his away. He clasped both their 
hands in his; he raised the other over them in the act of 
benediction, the tears which only glistened in the eyes of 
Florence, falling fast from his. 

“Yes, it shall be the home of all, and — Florence! — the 
sooner he conujs to it, the better. Bless, oh bless my 
children! and may this prove a happier, a more peaceful 
home for them than it has for me and mine!" 

“Amen!" answered Austin, in his inmost heart. 


[the end.] 




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Edited by Donn Piatt. 


Belpord’s Magazine, published monthly, is devoted to 
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Col. Donn Piatt is assisted by a staff of sub-editors, and 
also by a large number of able contributors, among whom are 


David A. Welles, 

Hon. Frank H Hurd, 

Prof. W. G. Sumner, 

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Gen. H. V. Boynton, 
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Price, $2.50 a year, or 25 cents per number. 

BELFORD, CLARKE & CO., Publishers, 

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AS IN A LOOKING-GLASS. 

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“ Readers of Mr. F. C. Philips’ brilliant novel, ‘ As in a Looking-Glass,’ will 
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JACK AND THREE JILLS. 

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f ' 


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“RITA’S” NOVELS. 

Authoeized Editions. 

12mo, paper covers, in Lovell's Library, 20 cents each. 


“ Eita’s heroes and heroines are very human.” — Lady's Pictorial. 


1. DAME DURDEN. 

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2. MY LADY COQUETTE. 

*‘ It would be well, indeed, Lf fiction generally could be kept up to this 
level. .dcadewi/. 

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“ Intensely dramatic, abounding In Incident and sensation .” — Lailyt 
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4. LIKE DIAN’S KISS. 

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5. COUNTESS DAPHNE. ' 

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on art matters which must fire their zeal and foster noble feelings. 
The story is full of interest.” — Musical Review. 

6. FRAGOLETTA. In Press. 

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7. A SINLESS SECRET. In Press. 

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8. FAUSTINE. 

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O. AFTER LONG GRIEF AND PAIN. 

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lO. TWO BAD BLUE EYES. 

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long and terrible temptations, yet arriving scathless at the goal of 
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MY LORD CONCEIT. In April. 

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one. Her present story has these good points, and the merit besides 
of refinement in a great degree.’’ — Whitehall Review, 

CORINNA. In September. 

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THE DEEMSTER: 

A Romauce of the Isle of Man. 

By HALL CAINE. 


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— Rochdale Observer. 

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“ Veritably one of the most remarkable works of fiction of onr time.” 

— Young Folks’ Paper. 

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“ The most powerful scenes yet compassed by this author.” 

— Westminster Review. 


1 Vo!., 12mo, Paper Cover, Lovell Library, No. 1 143, 20c. 


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LOVELL LLBRART ADVERTLSER. 


Tax the Area. 

fi SOLUTION OF THE LAND PROBLEM. 

By KEMPBR BOCOCK. 


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ooivefxjXsi'je:. 

Aimard’s Indian Tales. 


12mo volumes, paper covers, price 10 cents each. 


AUTHOR’S COPYRIGHT CHEAP EDITION. 

Gustave Aimaed was the adopted son of one of the most powerful 
Indian tribes, with whom he lived for more than fifteen years in the 
heart of the Prairies, sharing their dangers and their combats, and 
accompanying them everywhere, rifle in one hand and tomahawk in 
the other. In turn squatter, hunter, trapper, warrior, and miner, 
Gustave Aiaiard has traversed America from the highest peaks of 
the Cordilleras to the ocean shores, living from hand to mouth, happy 
for the day, careless of the morrow. Hence it is that Gustave Aimard 
only describes his own life. The Indians of whom he speaks he has 
known — the manners he depicts are his own. 


1. TEAPPEES OF AEKANSAS. 

2. BOEDEE EIFLES. 

3. FEEEBOOTEES. 

4. WHITE SCALPEE. 

5. GUIDE OF THE DESEET. 

6. INSUEGENT CHIEF. 

7. FLYING HOESEMAN. 

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11. INDIAN SCOUT. 

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16. BUCCANEEE CHIEF. 

17. SMUGGLEE HEEO. 

18. EEBEL CHIEF. 

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20. PEAEL OF THE ANDES. 

21. TEAIL HUNTEK, 

22. PIEATES OF THE PEAIEIES, 

23. TEAPPER’S DAUGHTER. 

24. TIGER SLAYER. 

25. GOLD SEEKERS. 

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iTXTST 


A House of Tears. 


By B. DOWNBY, 

Author of “In One Town,” Etc., Etc. 


lOFINIONS OF THE PRESS, ^ 

“ Since ‘Called Back’ no more original and exciting story has been published 
than ‘ A House of Tears.’ "—Life. 

“The author has invented a monster— a sort of modern form of the Lamia of 
classic legend— only one degree less than Mrs. Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein.’ ” 

—Public Opinion. 

“ Beyond a ‘ House of Tears ’ the novel of pure sensation can hardly go.” 

—T7ie World. 

“A tale of altogether extraordinary horror.” — The Times. 

“This is one of the most thrilling stories we have read for years; it is abso- 
mtely imposdible to lay it down without mastering all the details. The nature of 
its fascination is similar to that exercised on a bird by a snake. . . . When 
we say that it is not a book for indiscriminate feminine reading, we must not be 
accused of any desire to detract from its cleverness or its purity.”— Uamti/ Fair. 

“ There can be no doubt that ‘ A House of Tears’ is a very extraordinary and 
original story.” — London Figaro. 

‘•Mournfully mysterious is ‘A House of Tears’— truly a story to make one’s 
flesh creep.”— Lady’s Pictorial. 

“ I had to take nips of brandy to keep up my courage while I was reading ‘ A 
House of Tears.’” 

“There is no leaving off until it is finished, so absorbing is the thread of the 
nar rs ti ve. Ev gland. 

“The writer shows much ingenuity in his strange conception, and consider- 
able skill in the unfolding of the mysteries which beset the morbid Dr. Emanuel.” 

—TTie Academy. 

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many exceedingly dramatic situations.”— Jb7m Ball. 

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who has breakfasted on Boisgobey, and supped off Sue.”— St. Stephen’s Review. 

“ The story is weird, even gruesome, and in parts almost terrible ; but the idea 
is exceedingly original, and the style is excellent— terse, straightforward, and 
matter-of-fact, stories of the horrible imaginative should be.” 

—The Liverpool Post. 

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incidents of the most exciting kind follow each other in rapid succession, fas- 
cinating the attention from the first to last page.” — Bristol Observer. 

“ A clear, forcible, simple style, and a power of condensed and plausible narra- 
tion are his."— Nation (Dublin). 


l Vol.,12mo,Loyeirs Library, Ko. 1126, - - - price 20 cts. 


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14 and 16 Vesey St., New York. 


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LATEST STORY BY MR. GEORGE MANVILLE FENN, 

Author of This Man’s Wife,” ** The Bag of Diamonds,” 

Etc., Etc., 

WTiose reputation as a provider of good literature stands deservedli' 
high, is the novel entitled 

The Story oe Artony Grace. 


It describes wltli powerful emphasis and striking effect the life of a 
delicately-nurtured, sensitive lad, deprived at an early age of both parents, and 
thus consigned to experiences which must, for the most part, have been extremely 
unpleasant to himself, but now prove exceedingly interesting to the reader. Mr. 
Fenn possesses such graphic skill in depicting the surroundings of a story, and 
has, moreover, so powerful an imagination in constructing the details of a plot, 
that his present work, wuich exhioits him in one of his happiest humors, is sure 
to be widely read. Poor little Antony I his life with Mr. Blakeford, the lawyer, 
was certainly not overflowing with peace and comfort, and had it not been for 
Mary, the servant, and the daughter, Hetty, his case would certainly have been 
hopeless. Eventually he runs away, and -but there, we are reveaUng the plot, a 
proceeding we are most loth to do. It will be sufficient to say that it is made up 
of the most thrilling episodes, arranged with deft skill and knowledge of dramatic 
effect, and that readers are certain to be breathlessly excited throughout. 


i ¥ol.,12mo, Lovell’s Library, Ho. 1129, - - - price 20 cts. 


IN PRESS— BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

ONE MAID’S MISCHIEF. 


1YoI.,12dio, loiell’sUtoiiry, Ho. 1133, - - - pricolOcls. 


Worlds t>y GKO. MANVIKKK FKN:N, putolislied 
in KOVKKK’S KIBRARY : 

No, 1004, This Man’s Wife, , . ,20 

1000, The iBag of Diamonds^ • ,20 

1129, The Story of Antony Grace, ,20 
1132, One Maid’s Mischief, . .20 


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LOVELL LLBRARY ADVERT LSER 



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and if, after you know nil, you do not care to go 
further, why no haVm is done. But if you do send 
your address at once, 3 *ou can secure, free, an-Elk- 
GANT , Solid Gold, Hu.ntino Cask Watch, 

and our large, complete line of valuable Household 
Samples. We pfiv allexpre^s, freight, etc. Address 
Stinson A Co,, £i<»x 41 4:« Portland, Maine. 

on I n home and make more money 

111 1 1 U working for us than at any thing else in the 
^^^^■world. Either sex. Costly outfit free. 
Terns free. Address, Truk & Co.. Augusta. Maine. 

M e will print your name 
and address in American 
■ Agents’ Director\’,toronly 
IS cents !u postage stamps ; you will then receive 
great numbers of pictures, cards, catalogues, books, 
sample w^orks of art, circulars, magazines, papers, 
general samples, etc., etc., Uncovering to you the 
great broad held of the great employment and agency 
business. Those uhose names are In this Directory 
often receive that which if purchased, would co6t$20 
or $30 cash. Thousands (f men and women make 
large sums of money in the agency business. Tens 
of millions of dollars worth of goods are j’early sold 
through agents. T his Directory is sought and used by 
the leaning publishers, boc-ksellera, novelty dealers, 
iuventorsand manufacturers of tbeUnited States and 
Europe. It is regarded as the standard Agents’Direc- 
tory of the world and is rehed upon ; a harvest 
awaits all whose names appear in it. Those whose 
names are in it will )ieep posted on all the newmoney 
making things that come oui, while literature \\ill 
flowto theniin a steady 8:ream. Ihe great bargainsof 
the most reliable firms will be put before all. Agmts 
make money in their own localities. Agents make 
money traveling all around. Some agents make over 
ten thousand dollars avear. Alldepends on what the 
agent has to sell. Few there are wlioknow all about 
the business of those who eniploy agents; those who 
have this information make big money easily; those 
whose namesare m this Directoi y get this in formation 
FREE and complete. ThisDirector\ is used by all first 
class firms, all over the world, who employ agents. 
Over 1 000 such firms use it. Your name in this direc 
tory will bring you in great informaiion and large 
value; thousands will through it be led to profitable 
work and fortune. Reader, the very best small in- 
vestment vou can make is to have your name and 
address printed In this directorj*. Address, 

American Agents' Directory, Augusta. Maine. 


UNCOVERED 


LOVELL LIB BART ADVERTISER. 


Send $1.25, $2.25, 
^.50, or $5.00 for a 
sample retail box, by 
express, prepaid, of 
tbe Best CANDIES 
in America. Strictly 
pure, and put up in 
elegant boxes. Suit- 
able for presents- 
Kefers to all Chicago. 
Try it. Address, 

. GUNTHER, 

nfectioner, 

tate St, and 
.8 Madison St, 

CHICAGO. 


HOSXEXXBIt ’S 

STOMACH BITTERS 

HAS FOB 35 YEABS BEEN 

Adopted by Physicians and Invalids 

AS A BEMEDT FOB 

Indigrestfon, Dyspepsia, 

Fever and Ague. Malaria, 
Neuralgia, Klieuiiiatisni, 
General Debility, 
And other KINDRED DISEASES, 

AS CONFIRMED BY 

THOUSANDS OF TESTIMONIALS IN 
OUR POSSESSION. 

Ask your druggist for it, and take none but 
HOSTETTER’S STOMACH BITTERS. 


GANDY 


C. F 

Co 

812 SI 



— OTJieE — 

Sli HEiPACHi ! 

BY USING THE GENUINE 

Dr. C. McLane’s 

LIYER PILLS 

PRICE, 25 CENTS. 

FOR SALE BY ALL DRUGGISTS. 

HBBm^^BBend us the out- 
side wrapper from a box of the 
genuine Db. C. McLi\NE’S Cele- 
brated Liver Pills, with yourj 
address, plainly written, and we 
will send you, by return mail, a [ 
magnificent package of Chromatic 

FLEMING BROS. 

PITTSBURGH, PA. 



AS A HEALTH GARMENT IT STANDS PRE-EMINENT. 


The rapid increase in sales Is a sure guarantee to each lady of Its merits, 
•After a week’s trial. If not satisfactory, the money will be refunded. Ask your 
merchants for them or send the Jackson Corset Co., Jackson, Mich., $1.25 for 
Sample and Price-List. Made In Sateen, Silesia, Flannel, and Gauze— Button 
or Steel Front. Canvassers wanted. 

Hundreds of ladies have written : “ Am more than pleased, will wear no 
other.” Merchants say: “The Jackson Corset Waist sales exceed any other 
Corset in stock.” Try them. Our Baker Waist for Children, our Misses’ Cor* 
let, our Summer Gauze Ladles’ Corset, beat the world. 

Jackson Corset Co., Jackson, Mich. 




5 Appleton St., Boston, Mass., 

"■ MANUFACTURERS OF 

GRAND, SQUARE & UPRIGHT 

PiAno FoRies 

^ 

Graceful Designs. Solid Construction. 
Matchless Tone. - Beautiful Finish. 

—•SEND FOR CATALOGUE.:— 


C. C. BRIGGS & GO. 


Trademark 



lllllllllllllll 


PAIN EXPELLER! 


is acknowledged to be the best and 
most efficacious Kerned / for GOU'i' 
and lillEL'iUATlSil, as testified by 
Thousands of people. Who has 
once tried this excellent Rcmedr 
■will always keep the “PAIN EX^ 
PELLElt” trademark “Anchor” 
in his house, bold by all Chemists. 
Price 60 Cents, 

r. AD. EIOHTES & 00. 

310 BROADWAY, NEW YORK and 
LONDON, E. C. 1. RAILWAY 

place, FENCHURCH ST. 

Trademark! Jj’cU particulars mailed free. 


The New Novels. 

A QUEER RACE, by William 

Westall 20 

IN LUCK AT LAST, by Walter 

Besant 20 

ONLY A CORAL GIRL, by 

Gertrude Forde 20 

BERTHA’S SECRET, by F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

MY LORD CONCEIT, by “Elta”20 

JOHN TV. LOVELL CO., 

14 & 16 Ifesey St, N. Y. 


MCBW 

Money 


Refunded if not entirely satisfactory. If you val- 
ue health and desire a CORSET that com- 
bines ease, comfort, durability, and is at the same 
time perfect in shape and close fitting, ask your 
l^erch.ant for the 


Dr. Schilling’s Coiled Wire Spring 



Health Preserving 


CORiSET. If your merchant does not have them, will mail postpaid. 

Health Preserving, $1.15; Short Hip, $1.15; English Sateen, $1.50; 

Nursing, $1.25; Abdominal, $2; Young Ladies’, $1; Misses’, 85c. 

schilling corset CO., 

IDETR-OIX, 

And 261 & 263 Franklin St., Chicago. 



The treatment of many thousands of 
cases of those chronic weaknesses and 
distressing" ailments peeuliar to females, 
at the Invalids’ Hotel and Surgical lu- 
Btitute, Buffalo, N. Y., has afforded a 
vast experience in nicely adapting and 
thoroughly testing remedies for the 
cure of woman’s peculiar maladies. 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tiou is the outgrowth, or result, of this 
great and valuable experience. Thou- 
Bands of testimonials received from pa- 
tients and from physicians who have 
■tested it in the more aggravated and 
obstinate cases which had baffled their 
Bkill, prove it to be the most wonderful 
remedy ever devised for the relief and 
cure of suffering women. It is not re- 
commended as a “cure-all,” but as a 
most perfect Speciflo for woman’s 
peculiar ailments. 

As a powerful, invigorating 

tonic it imparts strength to the whole 
system, and to the uterus, or womb and 
ite appendages, in particular. For over- 
worked, “worn-out,” “run-down,” de- 
bilitated teachers, milliners, dressmak- 
ers, seamstresses, “shop-girls,” house- 
keepers, nursing mothers, and feeble 
women generally. Hr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription is the greatest earthly boon, 
being unequalled as an appetizing cor- 
dial and restorative tonic. It promotes 
digestion and assimilation of food, cures 
nausea, weakness of stomach, indiges- 
tion, bloating and eructations of gas. ^ 

As a sootliiug and strengthen- 
ing nervine, “ Favorite Prescription ” 
is unequalled and is invaluable in allay- 
ing and subduing nervous excitability, 
irritability, exhaustion, prostration, hys- 
teria, spasms and other distressing, nerv-, 
ous symptoms commonly attendant upon 
functional and organic disease of the 
womb. It induces refreshing sleep and 
relieves mental anxiety and despond- 
ency. 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is a legitimate medicine, 

carefully compounded by an experienc- 
ed and skillful physician, and adapted 
to woman’s delicate organization. It is 

purely vegetable in its composition and 


perfectly harmless in its effects in any 
condition of the system. 

“ Favorite Prescriptioi* ” ♦ is a 
positive cure for the most compli- 
cated and obstinate cases of ieucorrhca, 
or “ whites,” excessive flowing at month- 
ly periods, painful menstruation, unnat- 
ural suppressions, prolapsus or falling 
of the womb, weak back, “ female weak- 
ness,” anteversion,ret reversion, bearing- 
down sensations, chronic congestion, in- 
flammation and ulceration of the womb, 
inflammation, pain and tenderness in 
ovaries, accompanied with internal heat. 

In pregnancy, “Favorite Prescrip- 
tion” is a ■" mother’s cordial,” relieving 
nausea, weakness of /stomach and other 
distressing symptoraj common to that 
condition. If its use is kept up in the 
latter months of gestation, it so prepares 
the system for delivery as to greatly 
lessen, and many times almost entirely 
' do away with the sufferings of that try- 
ing ordeal. 

“ Faa’^orite Prescription,” whei* 
taken in connection with the use of 
Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery, 
and small laxative doses of Dr. Pierce’s 
Purgative Pellets (Little Liver Pills), 
cures Liver, Kidney and Bladder dig; 
eases. Their combined use also removes 
blood taints, and abolishes cancerous 
and scrofulous humors from the system. 

Treating t3ie Wrong Disease.— 
^Tany times vromen call on their family 
physicians, suffering, as they imagine 
one from dyspepsia, another from beam 
disease, another from liver orwkidnej 
disease, another from nerv^ous exhaus- 
tion or prostration, another with pain 
hero or there, and in this way they all 
present alike to themselves and their 
easy-going and indifferent, or over-busy 
doctor, separate and distinct diseasea 
for wdiich he prescribes his pills ana 
potion^ assuming them to be such, 
when, in reality, they are all only symp- 
toms caused by some Avomb disorder. 
The physician, ignorant of the cause of 
suffering, encourages his practice until 
large bills are made. The suffering pa- 
tient gets no better, ut probably worse 
by reason of the delay, ■wrong treatment 
and consequent complications. A prop- 
er medicine, like Dr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription, directed to the cause would 
have entirely removed the disease, there- 
by dispelling all those distressing sj'mp- 
toms, and instituting comfort instead of 
prolonged misery. 

w Favorite Prescription” is the 

only medicine for women sold, by drug- 
gists, under a positive guarantee, 
from the manufacturers, that it Avill 
give satisfaction in every case, or money 
will be refunded. This guarantee has 
been printed on the bottle- wrapper, and 
faithfully earned out for many yearn. 
Large bottles (100 doses) $1.00> or 
six bottles foi $5.00. <• 

{^"Send ton cents in stamps for Dr. 
Pierce’s large, illustrated Treatise (1(30 
pages) on Diseases of Women. AiUlress, 
World’a Dispensary Medical Association, 
Ko. 668 Main i3X8.S£T, BUFFALQ^ N, T* 



foFthe^thorough'^imroduction’of theC 
Iperfume into every particle of the soapi 
elaborate and intricate machinery is) 
[used and every cake is stamped withi 
teuch enormous pressure (30 tons)that' 
lit will outlast all other toi|ei soap 

^In addition to thVuhequalled washm%^ 
(qualitiesef Cashmere Bouquetits perfumeiH) 
lexceptionally delicate and delightful, being! 
composed offset deliciou s Ori ental odo: 




msEessm 



^Messrs. Colgate ^^haveloTdihthe p^t? 
yearan amount of their CASHMEREBOUOUEf 
joilet Soap far in excess of the combined, i 
imports of Toilet Soaps from &igland,franci^ 
®^i!^^^ly^^aJjpther;coi^^ ^ 

This en^%us saleofa single^oap isalT 
the mor^markable when it is remembered 
that Cashmere Bouquet is but one of 103 varieties 
of toilet soaps manufactured by Colg ate & 








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